Twists, Turns, And Tenderness
by E.Wills
Summary: Another one-shot that is (hopefully) an ongoing side-project. I hope it evolves into a one-shot collection. It is currently an undecided number of scenes from the love lives of our favorite Vikings. My summary is vague, but read the author's note and it will be clear. Rating and content is fluid, depending on you, dear readers. Definitely Hiccstrid. Because, of course it is!
1. The Braid War

*****PLEASE READ**** Author's Note: **So, this is going to be a little fanfic side-project of mine. There won't be any rhyme or reason to its updates, which is why I have no qualms about publishing yet another work while I still have two more fics outstanding. A collection of one-shots does not command my constant attention as much as full-length, plot-driven work.

This fic started when I received a PM from a fan requesting I write about the origins of the ongoing Hiccup-Astrid braid war. It sounded like a fun prompt, so I decided to roll with it. Then, I had another idea...I am also opening up the floor to grow this one-shot collection on a request basis. All I ask is that any requsts made, A) be proposed in a PM so I have the opportunity to clarify any details asked of me and B) fall within my established continuity—which mirrors the original canon closely, anyway...sort of. Having a request-based piece of work sounds horribly egotistical to me, but please know that is not where I am coming from...

I have enjoyed the overwhelming support I have received from you all, my dear readers. This is my way to give back to y'all for following me along on this crazy Hiccstrid journey. This one-shot collection gives you guys the power to request anything you feel I have left out of my stories, or that you would just like to see as more smluffy Hiccstrid indulgence. That being said, I have also invested some time into the other characters in my more recent fics. This one-shot collection is not Hiccstrid exclusive, although I have a feeling that will be the majority of the content anyway. ;) Unless you all just surprise me with a ton of Rufflout requests. Or maybe I'll get no further requests at all, and this is just a signle one-shot. It works either way.

Now, after all of that, I think it stands to reason you have to be pretty familiar with my stories to get the full enjoyment out of this fic. *shrug* That's just my advice.

I hope you enjoy! Cheers!

***_OH! There are spoilers for HTTYD2!_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the HTTYD franchise.

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"Are you ready for this?" Astrid asked softly.

"No," Hiccup replied flatly, "but I think the more pertinent question is, 'do I have a choice?' Funny how the answer is still the same."

They bounded up the last few steps towards the Great Hall, taking them two at a time. What once would have been nearly impossible for Hiccup was hardly a challenge with his taller stature and longer legs. Their pace slowed as soon as their feet met the landing, and they lingered for a moment outside of the ornately decorated wooden doors.

Where Hiccup was about to go, Astrid could not follow. He was the Chief of Berk, and though he would undoubtedly regale her with the more interesting aspects of his meeting, he was priviledged in a way she was not. Perhaps, over the years, as Hiccup imposed his more unorthodox methods of leadership, traditions and decorum would slacken to where she could assume a more equal role to him. After all, he had written her a letter once, implying his desire for such an arrangement. He had not given any recent indication that he had changed his mind, but it was his first full day on the job. Gothi had declared him the rightful successor only the day before. Hiccup was not interested in pushing his boundaries just yet.

As they hesitated to part ways, their eyes met, and Astrid could see the reluctance and insecurities concealed within his deep, viridescent eyes. Such unspoken emotion betrayed the self-confident facade he wore to bolster others' faith in him, but Astrid could see through his walls. She knew the fears and self-doubt buried there, and even fully aware of his vulnerabilities, she still believed in him. As he gazed back at her, she could not help but reflect on how much five years had changed them both—in more ways than just the physical sense.

"You'll be amazing," she told him, hooking her fingers on a strap of his flying leather, pulling him closer.

He smiled appreciatively, but it was forced—as was every fleeting momet of happiness he displayed in the wake of his father's untimely demise. He was inwardly grieving on a level Astrid could not begin to fathom.

"I love you," he said, before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

"I love you, too," she replied, reaching up for his hair as he pulled back.

"Don't," he said, easing her hand away.

"I was just going to add another—"

"It's...a one-braid kind of day."

She had been by his side when he had bathed earlier that morning, quick to initiate the game they so often played, and Hiccup had made no protest when she had twisted his auburn hair into one, small braid behind his right ear. He looked good enough with one, but for reasons she could not adequately explain, Astrid perferred her Viking with two. He usually indulged her, pretending to find the whole thing childish or irritating, as were the rules of the game, but she knew he fet quite the contrary. So, she found it peculiar that he resisted her unique gesture of tenderness.

"What's wrong?" she asked with concern, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Don't exhaust all of your affection for me before midday. I have a feeling I will be needing a lot more of it, later," he replied, kissing her fingertips.

Astrid felt her heart ache for him—he was so very melancholy.

"Hiccup, I—"

"Chief!" a gruff voice interrupted suddenly, making her jump.

The two of them turned to see Spitelout standing there, holding one of the double doors open impatiently. He was scowling at Hiccup with a deep-seated disapproval, and Astrid felt a twinge of anger towards the man. While Spitelout had neither said nor done anything to her, personally, Astrid felt defensive of her lover. She supposed he did not need emotional safeguarding—he never did, not even in his much smaller and weaker days—but it was an inherent trait in her, elicting an automatic response when he was challenged or threatened in her presence. Hiccup had entrusted his heart to her, and that meant more to her than just proving her love and loyalty to him—his joy was her joy, and when he hurt, so did she.

"I know, Spitelout. I'll be right there," Hiccup told him, but Spitelout remained stubbornly rooted to the spot, determined to make his point with his obnoxious presence.

"Well, you know where to find me," Astrid said, releasing her hold on Hiccup. "I'll be melting Bewilderbeast ice 'til dusk."

It may have been common knowledge that the two of them were romantically involved, but there would be no loving exchanges in front of a man like Spitelout. Hiccup simply nodded and turned towards the Great Hall, passing by his uncle without the slightest acknowledgment. He glanced back over his shoulder, and Astrid gave him a bracing smile before the double doors closed completely, leaving an inexperienced young chieftain at the mercy of the older Hooligans tribesmen, who would be ruthless in their demands and judgment of him.

Astrid sighed heavily as she descended the stone steps back towards the village proper, feeling helpless. There was very little she could do to help Hiccup carry out his new responsibilities. She was committed to doing any task he set for her to the best of her ability, if for no other reason than to make his life a little easier. Other than that, she could only help him cope with his stress once the day was done, and he sought refuge in her arms.

She would hold him, of course, and listen to his concerns and complaints. She would advise him as best she could, though she was not always the most judicious problem-solver. She would try to make him laugh, and put his worries into perspective. She would offer her sympathy and unwavering support, reassuring him of his potential and his aptitude for greatness. Then, if any twilight hours remained, she would touch him—whichever way he needed to be touched. The possibilities ranged from more innocent caresses to the fervored exploration of his body. She would let him call the shots, though sometimes he needed a little encouragement. As part of his mild-mannered nature, he would often deny the extent of his own interest, frequently deferring to Astrid's desires in order to keep a handle on his emotions—his self-discipline was, at times, awe-inspiring.

When she thought about it, it explained a lot—how he could be so passionate one moment, then placid the next. Hiccup was a deep well of emotion that he had long since mastered keeping contained—almost as if he had been born with the ability to switch his inner fire on and off, out of necessity—channeling all of his sentiments into the very pursuits that had made him successful in life. That was why Astrid felt more concern than offense when Hiccup resisted her affections, as silly and insignificant as they might be. He could calmly play it off as indifference or exasperation, but Astrid had come to know there was usually something else at work beneath his unruffled demeanor.

Her appreciation for Hiccup's depth of feeling had begun about four years prior, when they had been lost in the height of their regrettable misunderstanding. She did not fully comprehend then, since it took years to complete the complicated puzzle that was their mutually believed-to-be unrequited love for one another. Only in retrospect did it all make sense, and the most poignant symbol of their unnecessary bitterness had been the braids in Hiccup's hair.

They had been sixteen when they had started their game, each of them only knowing half the rules—the ones that pertained to them, alone. Astrid was one year older from when her parents had burderned her heart with a pre-arranged betrothal to Stronggut Svenson. In a desperate move to free Hiccup from the pitiful truth, she had loosened her ties to him, believing at the time the situation was inescapable. She had thought she was saving him a lot of grief, keeping him uninvolved in her personal woes as she retreated deeper into the new social circle her family had thrust upon her. She had foolishly believed it was the better option, for everyone, because she had no inkling of just how hopelessly in love with her Hiccup was—had always been. It had perplexed her—wounded her, even—how callous and distant he became in response to her new persona. He remained cordial in speech, of course, but he was abrupt, and standoffish in both body language and overall attitude.

It was selfish of her to keep seeking him out in those days—but she thought the pain was one-sided. All she knew was that she had lost Hiccup's favor, and she was desperate to get it back, unaware of the hurt her occasional nearness inflicted upon him. She wanted him desperately, even then—but she would not let him catch on. If he would not be drawn to her emotionally, she craved a closer physical proximity. So, she had invented a game for herself. With every visit she paid Hiccup, she would move closer, as if standing mere inches from him could bridge the emotional gap between them. She tested the limits to see if he would pull away, but he did not. If nothing else he seemed willing in body, though strangely bitter in spirit. Soon, even to stand beside him as he sharpened her axe, or to brush against him as she passed him in the Great Hall, was not satisfying enough. Her game had suddenly evolved into ways to touch him, though she could never seem to cultivate a good enough excuse before Hiccup would find cause to leave her presence—playing by his own set of rules she was not yet privy to.

Then, one afternoon, when she had asked him to needlessly sharpen her weapon for the second time in one week, she had an epiphany—a stroke of genius that resounded in her brain as Hiccup took the axe from her with a thinly-veiled, silent irritation in his eyes that was masked by the pleasantness in his tone of voice.

"This shouldn't take too long," he told her, before turning towards the sharpening stone.

Her eyes were transfixed on his russet hair, appearing brown in most lighting, but possessing brilliant reddish hues when caught at just the right angle by the sun's rays. He had been letting it grow out—not necessairly longer, but shaggier. It was a look as untraditional as he was, but it somehow suited him perfectly—it was the excuse she had been looking for. Quickly working up the resolve, she strode up behind him, gently reaching up to run her fingers through it.

Hiccup was so startled, he dropped her axe on the sharpening stone in alarm, jerking away from her in a panic. The momentum of the spinning stone flung the axe into the ground, sparks flying.

"Careful! That axe used to belong to my mother!" Astrid scolded, placing her hands on her hips.

Hiccup ignored her reprimand, replying, "Gods! Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

"No, but if you break that axe, I might consider it!"

Hiccup narrowed his eyes at her and retrieved the weapon from the smithy floor.

"What were you doing—sneaking up on me like that?" he demanded, failing to appear intimidating, even with an axe in his hand.

"I was _trying_ to...braid your hair," Astrid answered, hoping she sounded self-assured in her delivery.

He just stared at her skeptically, and she hated it. No one could look at her in the same way he did—making her feel so foolish and transparent.

"Why, in Midgard, would you want to do something like that?" he inquired, returning to work on her battle axe.

"It's just...getting kind of long," she answered, forcing her voice to sound as casual as possible.

Hiccup was quiet for a moment as he ground the blades against the stone. Astrid almost missed the quick glance that flickered in her direction before snapping back to his task.

"I'm surprised you noticed something like that," he said.

Astrid, at a loss for a reasonable response, just shrugged and watched him work. After another minute, he held up her axe, inspecting his handiwork.

"Done," he declared, handing it back to her.

"Really? That was fast."

He stared straight back at her, and Astrid almost looked away, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him for too long.

"It was already very sharp...from the last time I worked on it," he replied.

Astrid stood there awkwardly, clutching her weapon tightly as Hiccup turned away from her, removing his smithy apron. They were both aware she was making a habit of wasting his time, but she was both too proud to admit to it and aplogize, expecially since she would likely be compelled to confess the reason she craved his attention in the first place. Hiccup, though he undoubtedly realized what she was doing, had his own reasons for keeping his mouth shut, acting as though he was none the wiser. Astrid would later come to understand it was because he was wrestling with his own feelings for her—a desire for her to stay, even though it tormented him, but at the time, his motives were as enigmatic as ever.

As he hung his leather apron back on its peg, Astrid quietly set her axe down on an empty workbench, and approached him from behind once more. She hesitated, standing only a few inches from him, and she noticed he was frozen, too—tense in the shoulders as he sensed their physical closeness. They were both holding their breath, and Astrid did not know why he stood there, rooted in his anticipation, but she finally surrendered to her weakness. She reached up, noticing Hiccup had recently gone through a growth spurt, standing a couple inches taller than she was—he would surpass Fishelgs if he kept it up. She buried her fingertips in his hair again, quickly twisting the strands into a small braid behind his right ear. It was intoxicating to touch him, especially when fussing with a man's hair was considered a particularly affectionate gesture in their culture—she tried to play it off as anything else.

"There," she said softly, stepping back from him. "Now you look a little more like a real Viking."

Hiccup turned around and stroked the braid thoughtfully for a moment, and Astrid found herself finding his new decoration appealing—he ultimately decided that he did not.

"I don't need braids to be a Viking," he responded, frowning.

Much to her disappointment, he undid the braid with a few deft moves of his fingers, and she tried not to appear too crestfallen.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked flatly, picking up her axe.

"Not a thing. The same as always."

For all of his subtle annoyance at her repeated, pointless visits, he never charged her anything for his services in the smithy. She could have dismissed his generosity as a sort of "formerly friends" discount, but she knew he did not extend the same benefits to the other teens, with whom he was still on good terms—Tuffnut and Snotlout complained about it often enough.

"Thanks," she muttered, briskly striding towards the exit of the shop.

"Anytime," she heard him say, though the dullness in his voice suggested he felt otherwise.

That had been the inception of their braid war. It should have been easy to take the hint that Hiccup did not want to be touched—least of all, by her. Of course, he would confess to her a couple years later that every fiber of his being screamed for her, and perhaps that was why the course of their battle for his hair began to change.

For the most part, they continued to avoid one another, until Astrid's selfishness got the better of her, and her barely repressed need for him brought them crashing back together in a confusing, emotionally painful jumble of hormones, and mutual denial of the sexual tension that was so retrospectively obvious. She made her excuses to her intended, telling Stronggut she had a mounting list of chores, or some dragon-related business in which he had no interest. To Hiccup, she spun small white lies about places to go and things to do, which had caused their paths to fortuitously cross. He would listen politley, and smile occasionally—if he could force it—then quickly blurt out an urgent concern that required him to be just about anywhere else than trapped in an awkward conversation with her. He would turn to flee, but not before Astrid offered to braid his hair—though, it was more a declaration of what she was about to do, instead of a bid for permission.

"I told you before, Astrid," he said wearily as she cornered him on the bridge to the academy, "I don't need a braid to be more of a Viking."

"I know that," she said, quickly twisting his hair into place before he got it in his mind to pull away. "I was teasing before."

"Then why do you keep doing it?" he asked, bemused.

"Because it looks good on you," she answered.

"I have no one I'm trying to impress," he had lied.

She had hurried on her way as soon as she completed her handiwork, temporarily satisfied by even their terse exchanges if it meant she got to put her hands on him. Hiccup continued on towards the academy, and Astrid longed for the days not so long past when she worried about nothing else but the foolishness of the other teens—how she missed that simplicity.

As she reached the end of the bridge, she turned to cast one last parting glance at the true object of her affection. She saw Hiccup reach up to undo the braid in his hair, as he always did, but he paused, fingers poised. Then, to her amazement, he dropped his hand to his side and let it be just as he disappeared from her sight. She was surprised at the surge of happiness that rippled through her over something as paltry as a braid—but it meant, to her, that Hiccup was accepting some small piece of her.

Over the course of the next year, however, she came to realize just how wrong she had been in her analysis. Far from warming up to her, Hiccup only became more closed off. Even his irritation with her gave way to a sort of kindhearted apathy and mild neglect—she would have preferred his aggravation to the aloofness, because she had at least recognized him in it. She continued to braid his hair whenever she saw him, provided he had not left the previous one in place. He had started to wear the braids she made as a regular part of his everyday appearance. While it used to please her to see it, she could not help but feel he retained them to ward off unnecessary physical contact. There were less opportunities to touch him the more he sported her decorations.

"I thought you hated the braid," she said to him one evening as she passed him in the Great Hall during supper.

She stopped for a moment to tug at it pointedly—one more excuse to toy with him. He glanced up at her with a calm, neutral expression that Astrid wished would betray even the slightest reaction to her presence. Her heart fluttered whenever he looked at her, and she silently cursed its weakness for the one person she could never have—the one person she wanted more than anything else in all off the realms of existence. He was seventeen and a month older than she was. He was taller, too—the tallest of all of the teens in her former circle of friends. How unexpected _that _change had been. His features had matured, too. He was more of a man than he was that awkward, scrawny, gangly boy that had stolen her heart with one romantic flight on the back of his Night Fury.

"I gave up fighting you a while ago," he replied. "You were just going to keep doing it, so now you don't have to be bothered."

Oh, but how she wanted to be bothered. In a pathetic excuse to prolong their conversation, she twisted a second braid behind his ear and a familiar exasperation spread across his face.

"You are relentless," he said, with a heavy sigh—a blunt observation devoid of humor or sarcasm.

Astrid opened her mouth to say something—to tell him she would stop if he came right out and asked her to—but her husband-to-be beckoned her over from the next table, and she had no excuse to linger with the young man who wanted nothing to do with her. She did not care what opinions other Hooligans had of her—she had heard it all. She was too tough, too mean, too boyish, but none of those criticisms hurt like the wordless rejection from Hiccup, who was so warm and open to just about anyone else.

Stronggut had tried to reassure her, in his pompous way, that her former friend was just too shallow and self-absorbed to waste another thought on, and she was better off focusing all of her time and energy him, instead. Astrid found herself thinking she had never heard a more inaccurate judgment of Hiccup's character. Furthermore, she could no sooner forget him than she could disown Stormfly, or take up needlepoint as her new, favorite pastime. She just did not have it in her, so she settled for one-sided pining, completely unaware that Hiccup was suffering just as much as she was, if not, moreso. How stupid they both had been, caught up in their own misery to notice one another's pain. How many intimate moments were lost because they were too busy keeping their talks brief and empty of all significant feelings? The only meaningful touch that connected them was the hasty braiding of his hair that was both fleeting in duration, and enduring as a reminder of their separation, as long as Hiccup kept them in place to keep her needy fingers at bay.

Relief was not a powerful enough word to express what came over her when they had finally given in to their desires a year later. It had been an inevitable thing—as deeply in love as they were—indescribable in its perfection and magnitude. Every kiss and caress from Hiccup was a healing force that she could not take for granted. Her fingers slid through his hair, no longer in an act of desperation, but rather a gesture of tenderness and yearning.

"You still wear those braids," she had mused one night, as they lay tangled up in his blankets—they were both freshly nineteen.

"Because _you _still put them there," he replied.

She was laying on top of him, naked, as his hands wandered up and down the contours of her back.

"Besides, they grew on me," he admitted.

"Oh? Is that why you roll your eyes whenever I make a new one?" she teased.

"No. I roll my eyes because I can't believe that I actually like them."

"They really do suit you," she said, gently pulling on one. "I think they can stay."

Hiccup laughed softly and Astrid smiled at the sound.

"I'm glad they meet your approval, considering you have been obsessive about them for the past few years."

"Actually I was obsessive about touching you," she confessed. "You were always so far away."

He reached up and traced her hairlne with his fingertips, and a small shudder of pleasure coursed through her.

"No. I was always here, but we were both too stubborn and proud," he said, sliding his hand around to the base of her skull.

"What! _Vikings? _Stubborn and proud?" she replied sarcastically, and he grinned.

He then applied gentle preassure to the back of her head, and their lips came together instantly—it never took much.

The rest of that night was tucked away in her precious collection of memories she prayed would never fade, even though there were more evenings like it than not. They were so comfortable together—their intimacy was natural and effortless. Around the village they tried to maintain a standard of propriety, since they were not yet wed and more traditional souls were sensitive to such things. Under the scrutinizing gaze of others, they settled for little more than brief kisses, innocent touches, and, of course, the occasional braiding of Hiccup's hair—if one or more braids were needed, and Astrid felt particularly affectionate.

What was once a bittersweet moment of selfish indulgence had become an enduring display of tenderness unique to their particular circumstances. Not only did braiding his hair serve to satisfy a mutual need for physical closeness in the presence of others, when certain desires could not be pursued, it also communicated so much about where they had once been, and how far they had come. It was such a crucial aspect of their nonverbal expressions of love, that Astrid was compelled to do it even in their private moments, as well as toying with his braids, if they were already in place. It was a much more satisfying game they played, ever since they had both come to fully understand the rules.

Astrid had to constantly check herself from daydreaming as she went about ridding Berk of the towering shards of ice Drago's Bewilderbeast had left behind. It was too easy to let her mind wander down the path of reminiscence as she poured hours into the tedious work—chipping away at the shards while Stormfly contributed with all her firepower. She had welcomed the sunset when it arrived, signaling the end to the seemingly endless day, giving her, and her Nadder, a much needed break. Her muscles ached from the repetitive swinging of a war hammer against the resolute pillars of ice that had transformed her village into a twisted, unfamiliar landscape.

She trudged her way towards Hiccup's house, rolling her right shoulder, which was feeling particularly taxed. She saw no sign of Cloudjumper as she approached, indicating that he and Valka were likely elsewhere doing...well, whatever it was they did. She siezed the chance to slip into the Haddock household without worry of any awkward, uncomfortable attempts at bonding with Hiccup's very peculiar mother. Stormfly curled up by the hearth patiently, undoubtedly waiting for Toothless, whom she had grown rather fond of as a playmate and companion.

"Good girl," she cooed, stroking Stormfly's snout. "Stay."

The Nadder rested her head, closing her eyes peacefully as she awaited the Night Fury's return. Astrid, meanwhile, hurried upstairs to Hiccup's bedroom. It was rather humble compared to his father's room, as Hiccup had described it—a bed chamber built for a Chief—but he refused to move down to the first floor. He had given the bedroom to his mother, insisting it was _her _home, and it had been _their_ marital bed—though Astrid suspected it had more to do with the lingering presence of his father's memory than Hiccup cared to admit.

She flopped down on his bed, burrowing into the pillow and blankets that smelled so much like him. It was a comforting scent that lulled her to sleep before she even had the chance to put up a fight. Only when she was awoken by gentle pressure in the bed beside her did she realize she had even drifted off.

"Hiccup?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes groggily.

He set a candle on the small table beside his bed.

"I thought you had gone home—that you had grown tired of waiting for me," he said. "Imagine my pleasant surprise when I walk in my front door to find Stormfly curled up in front of the hearth."

She sat up and hugged him tightly.

"Like I would be anywhere else," she replied.

He kissed the top of her head, and Astrid gazed up at him intently.

"Was it as bad today as you thought it would be?" she asked.

His smile faltered and he answered, "And then some..."

Astrid frowned and ran her fingertips through his hair. It hurt to see him so defeated. He had so often been her pillar of support, and yet Astrid felt completely ill-equipped to return the favor, in light of recent events.

"Sounds like a two-braid kind of night," she said, hoping to inject some humor into his somber mood.

To her relief, he gave a small chuckle and replied, "I suppose it is."

He sat still for a moment as Astrid twisted strands of his hair into a second braid, though she was much slower with it than usual—taking her time.

"It will get easier," she whispered, though she knew it was an unfounded claim with no guarantees to substantiate it.

Hiccup just sighed heavily, neither agreeing with nor refuting her reassurance. His typical optimism had been in short supply in the aftermath of all the tragedy.

"I know it's hard," Astrid continued, as she finished up the braid, "but at least you'll look good doing it."

She gave his braid a small tug for good measure and Hiccup broke out into the first genuine smile she had seen on his face since he had assumed his father's mantle.

"Thank the gods for you, then," he said playfully, running his hand over the braids Astrid had so lovingly provided him.

She beamed, glad that grief worked on a continuum. She would help him through it, holding fast to the occasional breakthrough happiness that Hiccup felt.

It was such a silly thing, to think two small braids could ever have any kind of symbolism, but there were stranger things in the world. It connected them—whatever ridiculous game of back and forth affection played out in his hair. It was just another piece of their history that they were not keen on letting go of anytime soon. After all, why would they? They had been through so much—suffered through so much. Whether it had been their own doing was beside the point. They would continue their little braid war—though Hiccup had long since yielded—as long as they had the need for any and all forms of physical closeness.

"It's like you're carrying a little piece of me with you," she teased.

It was her new, favorite excuse—she felt it was much more convincing than the white lies she used to spin that were born from a place of desperation and self-pity.

"Then I surrender to your hands," he replied. "The gods know how badly I could have used you today."

They shared a tender kiss, momentarily forgetting all the stresses of the world outside that cozy little room.

As they broke apart, Hiccup added, "If that's what it takes to remind me of how near you are..."

He lovingly tugged at the end of her own flaxen braid for emphasis.

"Astrid, don't ever stop touching me."

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**Author's Note: **First one-shot of who knows how many, written for The Wolf Raven. I have enjoyed our PMs, my friend. I hope this satisfied your request! :) I hoped I managed to make braiding hair romantic. I gave it my best shot!

****PS- If you _are_ going to make a request of me, please, please, _please_ do not ask for a Hiccstrid engagement/wedding fic. That would be jumping ahead of my timeline. We're just not there yet, dear readers.


	2. Awkward Introductions

**Author's Note: **Yay! Requests have been coming in! That makes me so happy—this one-shot collection...project...thingymajigger won't fall flat on its face, after all. I will honor requests in the order in which I have received and/or agreed to do them. I love the opportunity to break from the long, plot-driven stories every now and then. My brain needs a reprieve to write the occasional entertaining oneshot. I am prone to writer's block from time to time—which is very frustrating when I haven't updated one of my major stories in like...3 weeks. I always want to write. Once in a while, I just need to tackle something different.

Also, coincidentally enough, most of y'all's requests center around Astrid. I find this very intriguing. Hmmm.

Also, also— these oneshots are not necessarily linear. They won't jump ahead of my main timeline (currently 2 weeks post-HTTYD2 in _This Is All Just Part Of the Grieving Process_), but they aren't in any particular order. Some will be/contain flashbacks of pre-HTTYD canon, the 5-year gap between films in which the majority of my stories reside, and...well...there you go. I will try to give specifics about when each particular oneshot takes place along my continuity so there's not too much "Huh, what?"

**Disclaimer: **Blah.

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Astrid was Hiccup's biggest, most outspoken supporter. That was an undeniable fact. While she never hesitated to voice her contrary opinion, or question his logic when she deemed it necessary, she was the first and the loudest to sing his praises and rise to his defense in the face of others' unwarranted doubt and criticism. He was not infalliable, by any means, but she believed in him—in his intelligence, his wisdom, and his wealth of yet-to-be-tapped potential. His triumphs filled her with so much pride and adoration, as his lover, that she thought she might burst when he knelt before Gothi to claim his birthright and succeed his father as Chief of Berk. He had resisted the idea at first, lamenting to her about his insecurities, and lack of direction and identity that made him unworthy of the job in his own mind—but in spite of all his trials and tribulations during the preceding hours, as he rose to his feet again, he shone as brilliantly as any star in the night sky.

He had turned to face his people, who stared back at him with a mixture of admiration, hope, and uncertainty for the future. Hiccup, who was usually so calm and mild-mannered, was alight with a resolve that burned deep within him.

"I am your Chief. It is with a sense of humility and duty that I accept this honor," he told his tribe firmly. He balled his hand into a fist and laid it over his heart, adding, "I vow to tirelessly serve Berk to the best of my ability. _Odin, far-wanderer, grant me wisdom, courage, and victory. Friend Thor, grant me your strength, and both be with me."*_

Every Hooligan present responded together, in prayer, "_So may mild Powers help you, Frigg and Freyja, and many a god_." **

Hiccup wasted no time from that moment on, gathering Gobber, Spitelout, and other knowledgable men of Berk, to delegate and divide the daunting task of restoring their sturdy village to its former state. The group of them had quickly made their way towards the Great Hall to collaborate, but not before Hiccup tested his new, uncontested power. Astrid had stood by and watched as he issued his first commands—he was confident in his ideas, but not in his authority. It was as uncomfortable for the older Vikings to receive and abide by Hiccup's orders as it was for Hiccup to give them, since they had looked down on him for most of his life. Viking chieftains were supposed to be broad and burly, and Hiccup was a far cry from the traditional Chief that commanded respect. Berk was in a state of upheaval, and it would be a time of transition for everyone—a new leader, mass rebuilding, and an influx of strange, new dragons to mind. Hiccup's ascension to Chief of Berk was just a temporary high that would soon be consumed by the vacuum of power following Stoick's death. Astrid could see the impending conflict in the hesitancy with which the older Hooligans heeded their young, new Chief's orders. Still, the entire tribe was united in the common interest of rebuilding their homes and livelihoods. As long as that remained true, Astrid anticipated Hiccup would meet little opposition. At least, not at first. It would come, inevitably—but not until he had exhausted all efforts to make Berk whole again. She predicted that the dissenting voices would not hesitate to make themselves heard, once things had returned to a somewhat normal state.

Stormfly squawked suddenly beside her, snapping her out of her reverie with an unpleasant jolt—her dragon was often clueless as to how loud she could be.

"What is it, girl?" she asked, patting her dragon's side in a soothing manner.

The Nadder just fidgeted excitedly, gaze transfixed on the large house atop a familiar hill, silhouetted against the fading glow of the last, few retreating bands of sunlight. The front door was slightly ajar, and a soft, inviting golden glimmer of candlelight beckoned Astrid into the warmth and refuge of the loving arms that awaited her inside. Stormfly, on the other hand, was simply missing her favorite playmate.

"C'mon," she murmured to her Nadder.

They hurried towards the Haddock household—it was more "home" to Astrid during the past two years than the one she grew up in. The reason was obvious, of course, and she was willing to wager she would feel comfortable in a damp sea cave if Hiccup was there, beside her. Her parents had stopped asking questions about where she spent so many nights, and why—they were not terribly interested in the details. Her father was particularly determined to avoid extensive discussion on the subject, since it was far easier on him to claim ignorance. It had been a wise decision on their part, since Astrid could not, and would not, resist Hiccup—she was drawn to him by powers far beyond her control.

As she reached the threshold of his house, throwing open the door, she noticed Stormfly suddenly hesitated, lingering nervously outside. She turned back to reassure her dragon, but Stormfly would not budge. Astrid furrowed her brow in confusion, finding her Nadder's behavior peculiar, but as she moved to step inside, she nearly ran face first into an unfamiliar dragon with its head tilted so far to the side in a way that just looked painful. Blocking the doorway was Valka's sizeable dragon—a Stormcutter, Hiccup had told her—protectively standing watch against unwelcome intrusions while simultaneously stripping Astrid of the unfettered access to the Haddock household she regularly enjoyed.

"I was expecting a different dragon..." she murmured weakly, backing away.

The Stormcutter twisted its head back in an upright position as it considered her curiously, and Astrid felt her own head tilt to the side in bemusement. Four wings and all the cranial mobility of an owl—it was strangely fitting that Hiccup's mother would possess a dragon as rare and unique as Toothless was. After all, even Stoick the Vast had ridden the only Rumblehorn on Berk. Apparently, distinct dragon species was a Haddock thing.

"Is someone out there?" she heard Valka call from inside the house.

"It's...it's just me," Astrid replied awkwardly, immediately realizing that it did very little to distinguish herself from any other young woman on Berk. She added, "Astrid Hofferson. I'm...uh...well, Hiccup and I are sort of..."

She trailed off at the sound of approaching footsetps, and the Stormcutter's expression suddenly softened as it tucked its head beneath two of its wings to gaze at its rider.

"It's alright, Cloudjumper," she heard Valka reassure the dragon. "I believe she is a friend."

Cloudjumper. Astrid committed the name to memory.

"I apologize if he startled you," Valka said as her dragon scaled the house's facade to dutifully return to his watchful perch on the roof—Astrid had been so caught up in her own musings to have noticed the dragon before. "Twenty years of thinking other humans were the enemy has left us both a bit wary of new faces, I'm afraid."

Suddenly, Astrid was standing face-to-face with Hiccup's mother whom she, and everyone else, had long asumed was dead. It was like meeting a ghost, and Astrid did not know what to say, or how to properly address a woman as mysterious and feral as Valka—a complete stranger whom she had only heard about in the wistful reminiscings of Stoick, or her absence occasionally counted among Hiccup's regrets. She was a tall, fierce-looking woman molded by two decades of an untamed living, which would have made her intimidating if it were not for the subtle softness in her eyes that she had passed on to her son. She was beautiful in the way she was so wild, and yet oddly well-kempt.

"It's okay," Astrid said quickly. "I'm sorry for the intrusion. I was just...I'm going to..."

She took another step backward, towards Stormfly, gesturing behind her in no particular direction.

"If it's Hiccup you're looking for, he's still up at the Great Hall, as far as I know," Valka said. "But you are welcome to wait inside. I don't bite."

Astrid cast a quick glance at Stormfly, internally debating the merits of fleeing on her dragon, opposed to potentially being caught in an uncomfortable silence with Hiccup's long lost mother—but upon further contemplation, she reasoned Valka was to become a permanent presence in her life, if she indeed intended to stay on Berk with her son. Astrid knew it would serve her well to make a real effort to get to know the woman. Perhaps, to her pleasant surprise, they would enjoy an elightening conversation that drew them closer togehter? One could only hope.

"Thank you," she said as she accepted Valka's invitation, stepping over the threshold.

The two of them retreated indoors, followed by Stormfly, and Astrid felt a sensation of comfort wash over as she took a seat at the table. She was at peace in the Chief's household, probably moreso than Valka, despite the fact it was the home Stoick had built for her.

"With everything that has happened over the past two days, I don't think we've been properly introduced," Valka said, sitting down across from Astrid.

In spite of her two decades-long cohabitation with wild dragons, Valka spoke rather eloquently, and carried herself with an air of dignity. Astrid suspected she had been of a higher social status during her years on Berk—it made sense, considering she had been courted by the Chief. Not that Stoick was bound to marry a highbred woman—or, as highly bred as Vikings could be—but as a traditional soul, it made sense he would have been attracted to such manners.

"It's been a mess," Astrid replied. "I think it's understandable."

Valka smiled, and Astrid could see traces of Hiccup in it—he had certainly taken after his mother.

"My name is Valka—but I suspect you already knew that?"

"Yes," Astrid answered.

It was a short answer, bordering on rude, but she did not know how to elaborate without drudging up painful memories for the older woman. Everyone in Berk knew her name, for Stoick had mourned her for years—privately, of course, with an impassive exterior as he continued to carry out his duties as Chief. But, those who knew him well, like the Hofferson clan, had been aware of his heartache—as much as a man like him would show it. Astrid had been much too young at the time to remember her former Chief as anything but tough and unbreakable, but her parents had occasionally spoken about the depths his grief as part of the select few who had been priviledged enough to know the true extent of it. Astrid suspected Stoick had never fully healed—how could a man move past such a tragedy when he had been so deeply in love? Astrid would not speak of it in Valka's presence, however. She did not want to be responsbile for placing any feelings of guilt on the other woman, nor was it really her place to reveal such personal details about a man who could no longer speak up for himself.

"You are Astrid, am I right?" Valka asked.

"Yes—and that's Stormfly," she answered, nodding towards her dragon.

"Such a beautiful Deadly Nadder," Valka cooed, and Stormfly growled appreciatively.

"She knows it, too," Astrid replied with a smile, "but she's tough when it counts."

"She suits you."

Astrid was not entirely sure what Valka meant, but she assumed she was being complimented.

"Thanks?" she said, uncertainly. "Y'know, if it wasn't for Hiccup, there was a time where I might've killed her. Now, I can't imagine my life without her. How things have changed in five years..."

"For the better, no doubt," Valka replied firmly, and Astrid would not have dared argued even if she had disagreed—thankfully, they shared the same opinion on Berk's radical transformation. "I never would have thought it possible."

Astrid frowned, feeling a little defensive, latching on to Valka's hidden accusation.

"We may be a stubborn tribe of Vikings, but we aren't completely dense. We just needed some proof that dragons were more than the mindless killing machines we thought they were. Until Hiccup met Toothless, we had no evidence that they were anything else."

Valka scoffed and retorted, "Because everyone was so caught up in their violent ways, they were blind to the obvious truth, staring them in the face."

"At that point in time, it was kind of hard to be sympathetic towards the same animals that had been killing our loved ones for generations," Astrid argued.

"You're defending the old ways?"

"No, but I understand how things got so bad."

Valka waved her hand dismissively, and Astrid clenched her fists irritably in her lap.

"It was a horrible way to live. So much senseless bloodshed. How many thousands of dragons were needlessly slaughtered—?"

"How many _people_ were needlessly—?"

"—That is why I left. How could I stay? I never believed Berk could be anything different."

"Hiccup believed. He stayed."

A heavy silence descended between them and Astrid stared determinedly down at the table, feeling her heart pounding in her ears as she sensed Valka's eyes boring into her. She regretted the tense turn in their conversation, but she could not empathize with Valka's sentiments about Berk, and the way their tribe had lived. It had been the wrong way, of course—a woeful misunderstanding between dragons and Vikings alike—but their people had not been the heartless monsters, full of bloodlust, Valka seemed to think they had once been. Given their limited knowledge about dragons at that time, how could the she have expected them to behave any different? She judged them too harshly—one glaring difference between her and Hiccup, despite their striking physical similarities, and the unparalleled connection to dragons they shared.

"I can see why he fancies you," Valka spoke up suddenly, shattering their uncomfortable silence.

Astrid glanced up, expecting to meet her condemnation, but she was caught off-guard by her look of amused curiousity, instead.

"I—What?" she inquired, dumbfounded by the other woman's blunt assessment.

"You're intelligent _and_ beautiful—two traits that are a rare combination in this world," Valka replied. "The way Hiccup looks at you...Stoick used to look at me that way, too. Are you his intended?"

Astrid felt her face burn—twenty years without regular human interaction had apparently dulled Valka's sense of propriety in polite conversation. She was not prepared to delve into her relationship with Hiccup with his mother. There were details that Valka, practically a stranger, simply did not need to know. To discuss such sentimental things with her future mother-in-law, whom she barely even knew, went far beyond the bounds of normalcy, and she found herself wishing she had left with Stormfly while she had the opportunity.

"I'm just—We're not...engaged," she murmured, whishing she had a tankard of ale, or _something_ to occupy her fidgeting hands—she settled for drumming her fingertips on her knees.

Valka's eyebrows rose in mild surprise.

"I had just assumed by the way he kissed you today..."

_Of course_. When Valka still lived on Berk, arranged marriages and rigid standards of courtship were commonplace. She did not know—while promiscuity and premarital sex were still widely frowned upon, though ineffectively deterred—dating had become a far more relaxed, informal affair in recent years.

"We're _are_ together, and have been for a while," Astrid responded boldly—since Valka wanted to be diect.

"Well, I suppose that explains things," the older woman replied.

"It does."

There came another awkward lull in their conversation, and Astrid began thinking of polite ways to excuse herself from the Haddock household altogether. They had been talking long enough for her to conclude that she liked Hiccup's strange mother well enough, but she was not fond of their one-on-one chat—she had no desire to continue with it unless Hiccup was present to moderate.

"May I ask you something?" Valka inquired, and Astrid was instantly filled with foreboding.

_'No'_ was what she wanted to say, but she doubted Hiccup would take kindly to unnecessary rudeness towards his mother.

She hesitantly answered, "Go ahead."

Valka was quite for a moment, brow furrowed in deep thought—Hiccup often made the same expression, and Astrid was struck by a sudden need to hold him. As Valka began to speak however, Astrid's desire for her lover was overtaken by a sadness, and pity for his mother—the side of her that she had buried deep within her heart for two decades as she chose the freedom and well-being dragons over her deep-seated maternal instincts. Astrid could not imagine what had possessed her to make such a choice, but as convicted as she may have been, it must have still tormented her—gnawing at the woman she had once been, and had tried to cast aside for her new cause. Yet, that woman had remained there—the wife and mother—lingering beneath the surface all along, only just recently beginning to reemerge.

"I missed the last twenty years of my son's life," Valka said softly, "and not a day went by that I did not think of him—missing him. I thought, if Berk could not change, his life would be easier if I was no longer around to shame our family."

Such a confession further humanized her in Astrid's eyes.

"What I want to know," she continued, "is that it was worth it. Did Hiccup have the childhood I wished for him—one that made him happy and want for nothing? If I know he had an easy time as a boy, I can finally make peace with the decision I made."

Astrid took a deep breath, feeling her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. She did not know how to answer that question—that ardent desire for the truth, and for validation the other woman would not find with the words Astrid could not bring herself to speak. It was unfair for Valka to put her in that position. She could not be the one to crush a mother's hope that had given her purpose and justification for the past twenty years. Astrid would not do it. It was not a question that was meant for her. If Valka needed to know how her absence had impacted Hiccup's life, she was going to have to ask him directly.

"Listen..." Astrid began, apprehensively—but the gods saw fit to be kind to her.

The front door flew open, making both women jump, and Toothless bounded in, immediately rousing Stormfly for some friendly wrestling. Astrid lept to her feet and out of the path of a wayward tail.

"Okay! _Okay!_" she heard Hiccup say loudly.

Her heart gave its usual joyful flutter as he stepped inside, looking exasperated. The dragons' playful scuffle threated to overturn and demolish any unfortunate furniture that got in the way, and the day had seemed to rob Hiccup of his patience.

"Not in the house. Take it outside!" he demanded.

He quickly stepped aside as the dragons bolted past him into the night, and he shut the door behind them with a weary sigh.

"If our dragons can't control themselves, I'm going to have to..." he trailed off as he noticed both his girlfriend and his mother at the same table—it was apparently just as peculiar a concept to him as it had been to Astrid. "This is...unexpected."

He lingered by the doorway, indecisive over which of the women in his life required his immediate attention. It was a new dynamic in Astrid's relationship with him—to consider his mother and the role she would play in his life. His eyes flickered between the two of them, but Astrid would not have held it against him if he went to Valka. In fact, part of her wanted him to seek out that missing aspect of his childhood, but it was quickly silenced by a thinly veiled jealousy at the thought of anyone else taking priority over her. She knew it was a catty attitue to have—it was his _mother_, for gods' sake! He had longed for her love his entire life, and Astrid assumed he would easily become wrapped up in the novelty of it, and he could not be faulted for that—but it was Hiccup, and he did things contrary to what was expected of him.

To her surprise, he simply nodded at Valka and softly said, "Mom."

Then, without further hesitation, he strode over to Astrid and kissed her forehead before pulling her into his arms. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, basking in his love for her as Valka studied them curiously. When it came to their chaste displays of affection, innocent enough in nature, Hiccup was not shy about it—he did not care who saw them simply embrace, or share a quick kiss, and Astrid adored his lack of reservation about it. After all, he had wanted her so desperately for many long, frustrating years, and he was not about deny his desire for her beyond what was socially acceptable.

"How did it go today?" Astrid asked him softly, reveling in the sensation of his hands dropping to her slender waist.

"It was alright, but I feel everyone was just being generous, and cooperative for no other reason than to give me a break, considering..."

He could not finish the thought, but he did not have to. Astrid knew his father's death had to be on the forefront of his mind. How could it not be?

"I guess some things never change," Valka said. "Stoick used to complain about his early years as Chief, and all of the criticisms and nagging of the village elders."

She recalled the memory with a fondness. Coping with the her husband's demise by focusing on his life, instead. Astrid supposed it made sense, when Valka had nothing of Stoick to hold on to but fading recollections of what must have seemed like another lifetime, when they were different, happier people—she could more readily disconnect from the sorrow of the present and retreat into the comforting past. Hiccup, however, was just not there yet, and his mother was unaware of how mentioning the former Chief was hurting her son. Clearly, inherited traits were not enough to bridge twenty years of physical and emotional absence. She could love Hiccup deeply, and relate to his affinity for dragons, but she did not _know_ him. He was more than her son and fellow dragon rider, and Valka had not yet come to _understand_.

"It's a nice night, Hiccup," Astrid said casually. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow at her suggestion, but as she continued to stare back at him pointedly, the realization dawned on his face. He then flashed her a small, tired smile that was a brave, yet disingenuous stab at contentment in the face of inner turmoil—he was transparent to her alone.

"That sounds amazing," he replied.

"This late, when you just got home?' Valka asked curiously.

"It's alright," he told his mother reassuringly. "This is Berk, and I _am_ the Master of Dragons. Who would mess with _this_ much Viking?"

Astrid stifled the burst of laughter that threatened to spill from her lips, while Valka appeared extremely bemused—she was unaccustomed to Hiccup's self-depricating brand of dry sarcasm.

"I'm sorry. I should have prepared you for how...different mom is," he murmured under his breath as they slipped out the front door, finding it oddly more private outside the Haddock household. "With all the insanity, I just didn't have the time to properly introduce you to her."

Astrid hoped that sneaking off into the shadows would not become their new normal with Valka's return.

"You had to get it from somewhere, right?" she replied, playfully nudging him in the arm.

"Yes. I guess it does shed some light on the origin of my more unusual idiosyncracies," he said. "I hope you didn't find her to be completely off-putting."

Astrid just grinned and stated, "I don't think I'll be seeking any quality time with her right now, but I like her just fine, considering she's not the most adept at polite conversation."

"Well, it's been a few years."

"Maybe that's just one of _her_ idiosyncracies?"

"A trait I guess I missed out on, when you think that I have half of her—"

"That's not true," Astrid interrupted.

Hiccup stopped walking and stared at her quizzically.

"I don't think you're half of her, or half of your father. If anything, you've inherited a quarter of each them, at most," she explained. "The other half of you—the more outstanding half, in my opinion—is a man entirely of your own invention."

Hiccup mulled over her words for a moment, then he reached out to her, and she gladly slid into his arms once more.

"How can you possibly know me _that_ well—to make that sort of assessment with confidence?" he asked, frowning.

"Because, Hiccup," she began, "I've been around for the twenty years it takes to figure you out."

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**Author's Note:** Satisfying another request from The Wolf Raven for a meaningful Astrid-Valka introduction, which happened to be my second request, ever. Yay! This was a fun exercise in characterization for me—in regards to Valka, anyway. I mean, we haven't seen any of her or Eret outside the events of HTTYD2 to provide more insight into their characters...sooooo I'm just kind of working with what little we _do_ know. I hope it works and is in character as much as it can be. I imagine that—while not completely socially awkward—Valka's not great with small talk and pleasantries. It's been about 20 years since she had any real practice at it.

There was more to this author's note but my editor made me delete it because he thinks I talk to my fans too much. Lol

E. Wills, out! *mic drop*


	3. The Very Last Piece

**Author's Note: **Yay, an update! It's a miracle! I know I said there would be no rhyme or reason to when I updated, but it's been a while, and I just feel so bad about it. I haven't forgotten y'all's requests. I have returned to make a little more progress on the list.

This oneshot takes place shortly before the events of HTTYD2 and after my fic, _This Maddening Endrþaga._

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the HTTYD franchise.

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If there was one thing Astrid had come to know about her relationship with Hiccup, above all else, it was that Toothless was an integral part of it. One simply did not get close to the young man without going through his dragon, first. It had been that way from the beginning—from the day she had stalked him to cove. She only sought to interrogate him and learn the secret behind his unnatural success in the arena. She would have never imagined that the weak, mild-mannered, and unassuming village embarrassment tamed a dragon—much less, a Night Fury. More shocking still was the dragon's protective behavior. She could not get close to Hiccup while Toothless deemed her a threat. It was that day that everything she ever knew or believed about dragons was turned on its head—and she could not be more thankful for it.

Hiccup's bond with Toothless had been the key to everything—Berk's transformation, the enduring peace their people enjoyed, and more importantly, Astrid's relationship with him. Had it not been for the Night Fury, no Viking would have ever come to know what amazing creatures dragons truly were, and their village would have continued is archaic and misguided ways. Astrid would have likely continued to treat Hiccup as if he was invisible, and Snotlout would be better positioned to succeed Stoick as Chief—a thought which made her nauseous. Indeed, life on Berk was infinitely better with dragons as their companions, rather than mortal enemies, and Hiccup and Toothless were responsible for all of it.

It had not been an instant change, however. Even her friendship with Hiccup had gone through its own initial evolution. Dragons were their first common interest, and with his help, she forged a deep, lasting bond with Stormfly. She appreciated him for it—had come to greatly respect him, even. The new amiability that existed between them was a pleasant change, and perhaps, that was why Toothless was so tolerant of her growing need to get close to Hiccup.

The dragon was wary around others for a while—keeping a watchful eye on his human as he spoke to everyone from the Twins to his own father. Toothless' protective instincts were exacerbated by Hiccup's amputation in those first few days of the rough, and uncomfortable adjustment. While not aggressive, the Night Fury was inherently mistrusting of anyone he deemed unfamiliar or suspect. He had been aware of the difficulties between Hiccup and the rest of Berk—dragons were so eerily perceptive—and it had taken a few weeks before Toothless was completely relaxed around others. Astrid had been an exception, however. From the first flight she and Hiccup had shared, the dragon seemed generally accepting of her. She could speak with Hiccup—playfully punch him, too—and Toothless seemed unperturbed by any, and all, peculiar expressions of friendly affection. It was more uncomfortable for Astrid to adapt to the ever-present black sentinel that kept watch over Hiccup, even though she swore to herself there were no ulterior motives for hovering around the boy.

How naive she had been at the time. In all honesty, Toothless probably knew more of her feelings for Hiccup than she was prepared to admit to herself, all those years ago. Even during the regrettable three years of distance and bitterness between her and Hiccup, Toothless had always shown her more warmth than Hiccup ever did—probably because the dragon was not the one who was so brokenhearted. Though the Night Fury was invested in his human's physical and emotional well being, the dragon could sense who truly meant Hiccup harm. While her actions had torn a rift between them for those three long years, Astrid could not deny she still loved him—and for Toothless, that was good enough to forgive the blonde of her mistakes.

It went both ways, however. As dedicated a companion and body guard as the Night Fury was, Hiccup was equally committed to the dragon's well being. Until he and Astrid had succumbed to their feelings for one another, she would have bet all she owned that there was nothing Hiccup loved or cherished more than Toothless. No matter how tight a bond any other Hooligan developed with a dragon, it paled when compared to what Hiccup had with the Night Fury. With complimenting prosthetics, they were linked at the mind, body, and soul—one was seldom seen without the other. Hiccup had the uncanny ability to understand what Toothless was thinking, and Astrid had seen the two of them carry on an entire conversation in the dragon's growls and Hiccup's hand gestures. There was not another dragon-rider pair that could compete with what they had, and Astrid had accepted early on that to be with Hiccup meant she also had to get closer to Toothless.

It had been an easy task, considering how much Toothless had also come to care for her and Stormfly over the years. It was if the dragon also knew that Hiccup's happiness hinged upon a smooth relationship between himself and Astrid. The Night Fury opened up to her, and so Astrid had taken every opportunity to repay the dragon's kindness—though Hiccup would sometimes protest.

They shared a very different idea about what it meant to love Toothless. For Hiccup, his affections were communicated in the depth of their friendship. For Astrid, it meant showering the Night Fury with attention and favors—often in the form of extra fish. She would try to slip the dragon the occasional cod when Hiccup was not looking, but somehow, he always knew.

"I'm just trying to show Toothless how much I care," Astrid had once explained, after her lover had caught her red-handed.

"You're buying his affection," Hiccup retorted in exasperation.

"It's not like that, is it , Toothless?" Astrid cooed.

The dragon purred appreciatively, rewarding her with a gentle nuzzle, which only seemed to further irritate Hiccup, much to Astrid's amusement.

There had been another incident where the two of them had been preparing their dragons for an evening flight together. The minute Hiccup turned his back, Astrid stroked Toothless beneath his chin, taking great care to scratch him in the one spot that collapsed him in a contented heap on the ground. Astrid could still recall the moment fondly as she fought to stifle a laugh in spite of Hiccup's aggravated groan.

"_Really?"_ he asked, in annoyance—but Toothless did not seem to share in his complaint.

The battle raged ever on between them—Astrid's incessant spoiling of the Night Fury and Hiccup's attempts to curb it. It was just another game they played, and Toothless was more than happy to reap all the benefits of it. While Hiccup had his grievances, he had once confessed to Astrid that he was at least grateful his dragon was so accepting of her, and she could not agree more. She had won over Toothless, so she had unfettered access to her lover. It took Hiccup away from the Night Fury frequently, and so Astrid knew better than to let her affection for Toothless lapse. It was by the dragon's good graces alone that she could even get near Hiccup—a fact she did not take for granted.

Her eyes scanned the Great Hall as she sat alone, finishing the last few bites of her supper. She had expected to see a familiar black dragon, curled up near a fire pit, but Toothless was notably absent, which suggested Hiccup was, as well. It was not unusal for the two of them to miss a meal, especially given how easily distracted Hiccup was as of late—so many personal projects called him away to the smithy. It was still a wonder to her how anyone could forget to eat, but Hiccup often managed to do it.

With a sigh, she stood up from the table, carrying her bowl to the nearest cauldron for a refill of a thick rabbit stew. If her lover would not come to meals, than the meals would just have to go to him. She murmured a quick thanks to the woman who ladled the hearty concoction into her bowl before visiting another table to grab a tankard of _björr*._ She had barely taken two steps towards the doors before nearly colliding with Stoick the Vast. With a small gasp, she managed to stop the contents of her bowl from spilling all over herself, or the tower of a man in front of her.

"Steady there, Astrid," Stoick said jovially.

"Sorry, Chief," she replied breathlessly—though their paths crossed frequently, she did not think she could ever drop the formality. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Where are ye hurryin' off te with yer arms so burdened?" Stoick asked.

It was a genuine curiosity—not the interrogations he used to reserve just for their band of friends.

"I was looking for Hiccup," she answered.

"Ah, that makes two of us," the Chief replied, stroking his beard. "I usually assume the two of ye are together."

"He's hard to keep track of, sometimes," Astrid joked.

"Aye, don't I know it," Stoick chuckled. "Always has been. Well, if ye find him, tell him I'm lookin' fer him."

Astrid nodded and stepped aside as he passed. Their interactions were becoming less awkward as time progressed, but she suspected that had more to do with the fact she had become increasingly accomplished at sneaking out of the Haddock household in the mornings, undetected by Stoick.

She bolted out of the Great Hall before she encountered further interruptions and made a beeline for Gobber's smithy. The sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon and the sky was painted a dusky purple hue. There was a chill in the air and Astrid shuddered in the breeze, quickening her pace towards the warmth of the forge. The days were getting shorter and the trees had begun to change—bursting into brilliant shades of orange and red as they donned the colors of early winter.** She missed the pleasant weather of the summer months, but the latter half of the year brought its own joys and comforts. She could make out the fiery glow of burning coals as she approached the smithy, and the heat they emanated would be welcome against the advance of Berk's bitter winters.

She stepped inside the shop, glancing around carefully to ensure she was not in the way of any important work-in-progress. Grump, the sluggish Hotburple, was resting beside the forge as Gobber pounded away on glowing iron ore.

"—And _then_ I said, 'Ye must be mad if ye think that pile of rubbish is worth two sheep!' Ye should've seen the look on her face—as if no one ever told her that her husband's carpentry was complete yak shit!" Gobber chortled, shaking his head.

"So _that's_ why the Bergfalks hate you. Well, suddenly it all makes so much sense," Hiccup replied, closely examining a complicated metal apparatus on the workbench in front of him.

Astrid cleared her throat loudly, and Gobber nearly dropped his tongs in surprise, as if he expected to see Mrs. Bergfalk standing there, judging him. He was instantly relieved to see Astrid instead, and Hiccup glanced up from his project with a broad smile.

"What brings you to the smithy at this hour, milady?" he asked, setting down his own tools and she strolled over to him.

"Ye'll find nothin' but saucy tales and crass humor here, I'm afraid," Gobber quipped.

Astrid rolled her eyes and extended her food and drink to Hiccup. They were Vikings—crude and irreverent speech was the norm.

"You're so thin, _someone_ needs to make sure you eat," she teased Hiccup.

He instantly recoiled from the tankard in her hand, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Is that yaknog?"

"_No_," she replied defensively. "It's not even the season for it."

He took the meal from her without further complaint and Astrid ran her hand over the metal contraption on his workbench.

"What are you working on?" she asked curiously.

His inventions always astounded her. The things he could dream up blew her mind, and every time an idea of his was realized—impeccably crafted by his own skilled hands—she never failed to be in awe of his brilliance.

"I'm modifying Toothless' tail, again," he replied between spoonfuls of rabbit _skause_. "He'll be able to solo glide. I've been meaning to get around to it for while now."

It was a rather succint answer, considering he could easily go off on a tangent about any of his projects when he got really excited. He often lost her fairly quickly among all the technical details and aspects of impressive engineering. He would apologize for rambling when he recognized her glazed-over expression, but it honestly did not bother her too much. It was endearing to see him get so passionate.

She studied the Night Fury's metal prosthetic closely, feeling a burning curiosity mounting in her heart. She had ridden Toothless before, many times. She preferred her Nadder, of course, but there was a nagging need to know how it felt to actually fly Toothless—to be the one connected with the powerful black dragon, as opposed to merely a passenger. After all, there was nothing that solidified the bond between a human and dragon quite like a first flight. It was the moment where the two souls would truly become in-tune to one another—where dragon and rider were of one mind. Astrid loved the rush she got whenever she was on Stormfly's back. It was a sensation unlike any other. It was a sacred moment of deep connection between her and her Nadder—one that no one else knew, except Hiccup.

Looking back, he had been the first one to actually fly the Deadly Nadder, and Astrid clung to him as they raced into battle with the Red Death. Hiccup had been in control of Stormfly then, and even after she had come to accept Astrid as her true rider, the dragon had never lost its fondness for Hiccup. Not that Astrid was in any way jealous of that initial bond between her lover and her dragon—it just made them being together that much easier. What nagged at her still was that she could not speak of a similar moment between herself and Toothless. It was the final aspect of her relationship with the Night Fury that was still missing.

There came a soft warble from the corner of the shop, adjancet to Grump. Astrid whipped around and grinned fondly as the Night Fury perked up at the sight of her.

"Toothless!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to the dragon.

He flashed her a gumy smile before she cradled his wide jaw in her hands. He pushed his snout forward against her cheek, nuzzling her affectionately with a gentle rumbling in his throat.

"You spoil him," Hiccup muttered disapprovingly into his tankard of _björr._

"Like that's a bad thing!" Astrid retorted in a high-pitched tone she often reserved just for babies and dragon hatchlings.

She sat on her knees beside the Night Fury, and Toothless gave a dramatic sigh before laying his head in her lap, rolling on to his back and stretching out like a house cat.

"Poor Toothless!" Astrid cooed playfully, rubbing his neck. "Nobody loves you, do they?"

She glanced at Hiccup with a smirk and he just rolled his eyes before returning to the project on his bench, setting his food and drink aside.

"Heh, heh! I'd say she has a better grasp on that dragon than ye do!" Gobber told Hiccup, amused.

With a frown, Hiccup turned back to his dragon.

"Toothless," he said firmly.

The Night Fury perked up, staring back at his rider with ear nubs twitching. With one critical gaze and a quirk of an eyebrow, Hiccup reprimanded the dragon in silent terms Toothless could understand. The Night Fury rolled back to his stomach and curled up docilely, closing his large eyes and feigning sleep, far from ashamed of himself.

Astrid laughed as she rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her leggings.

"Hardly the most lethal of dragon species," she said.

"Only around you," Hiccup replied. "I wonder why that is..." he added sarcastically.

Astrid shrugged with mock-innocence, sliding between her lover and his work in an unabashed exercise of her powers of persausion.

"Hey, hey,_ hey!" _Gobber warned. "Not in here! This is a place of business! There's that side room if the two of ye just can't help yersel—!"

"We know," Hiccup and Astrid said in unison, and Gobber looked even more affronted.

"_What do ye mean_—?"

Astrid ingored the older man, reaching up to gently tug on one of Hiccup's braids.

"My birthday's next week, you know," she said matter-of-factly, and he just laughed.

"Really? How _could_ I have forgotten with you reminding me at every opportunity?" he teased.

Astrid wrinkled her nose at him and swatted his arm playfully.

"I take it you've finally figured out what you want from me?" he asked.

"I have."

Hiccup stared back at her patiently, waiting for her to elaborate.

"I want you to teach me how to fly Toothless," she said, gazing back at him determinedly.

His reaction was just about what she had anticipated. His expression went from surprised, to indignant, to skeptical, and she knew he was trying to think up about a dozen excuses not to agree to her humble request.

"Why would you want to fly Toothless?" he asked suspiciously—he was quite possessive of his dragon.

"Why _not_?" Astrid retorted. "There are days where your dad has you busy with responsibilities to Berk. Don't you think it would be to Toothless' benefit if someone else knew how to fly him when you can't?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to argue, but his words failed him—Astrid grinned, knowing her logic was sound.

"His tail comes with a steep learning curve," he said. "Not to mention, I'd have to find the older model that you can actually use..."

"Perfect!" Astrid said brightly, clapping her hands together. "When do we start?"

"Hold on! I haven't actually agreed to—!"

"Hiccup, this is what I really want."

She placed a hand on his chest, beseechingly, and she could see the resignation in his eyes as he caved to her wish. Astrid could not recall that last time Hiccup had outright told her "no"—not that he lacked the capacity to do so, as much as he like to joke that he did. He had always been so accommodating and Astrid rarely pestered him whenever he did show any reluctance. His generosity was a gift she did not want to abuse, but there was the occasional instance were they were both at odds over something, and Astrid was not above using her feminine charm to sway him if he was already teetering between two decisions.

"Alright," he finally relented, with a heavy sigh. "If this is what you _really_ want, meet me outside my house tomorrow morning, after breakfast. I will teach you how to fly Toothless."

Astrid beamed at him, and he smiled back at her in spite of his own misgivings.

"Thank you," she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"You're welcome," he replied softly.

Astrid pushed off from the workbench and made her way towards the exit.

"Your dad is looking for you, by the way," she added, lingering near Toothless.

"Why do you think I've been hiding in here?" Hiccup said, quirking an eyebrow.

Astrid smirked and shook her head, reaching out to pet the Night Fury.

"See you tomorrow, Toothless," she murmured.

As she stepped out into the twilight, she heard Gobber round on Hiccup immediately.

"Have the two of ye..._in that room_?"

Without missing a beat, Hiccup answered in a completely innocent tone, "I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

Astrid watched with a nervous excitement as Hiccup finished strapping Toothless' old prosthetic into place. It was the one with a foot pedal—the very first, complete model he had ever built. He was not one to get rid of his old creations. He usually stored them away or repurposed various parts for newer projects, and Astrid was thankful for his sentimental attachment to his earlier work.

"There," he said, once he was satisfied the tail fin was secure, "all set."

Toothless fidgeted uncomfortably and Hiccup patted him sympathetically.

"I know, bud. It's been a while, and it's heavier than your new tail, but it's only temporary."

Astrid stepped forward and ran her hand along the dragon's snout.

"Thank you for doing this," she told the dragon.

Toothless just snorted impatiently, communicating he was less than pleased with the arrangement—he did not enjoy anyone else flying him, and with good reason. No one understood the dragon like Hiccup did, therefore the Night Fury would not be able to fly free and unencumbered with a rider who was truly in-tune with him. Astrid made a mental note to slip the dragon a suitable amount of extra fish, to make amends for thrusting her clumsy inexperience upon him.

She turned to Hiccup, reaching up to play with one of his braids, twisting it between her fingers.

"Thank _you_ for agreeing to this," she said softly. "I know you're not too crazy about the idea."

"It can be dangerous to fly Toothless if you don't know what you're doing—"

"You mean like that very first time _you_ flew him?" Astrid interrupted, pointedly.

"—but if I'm with you, it'll be much safer," he continued, ignoring her comment. "Besides, I was thinking bout what you said, and it makes sense. Toothless needs someone else that knows how to fly him whenever I can't."

"Wow, I was kind of grasping for any excuse to—"

"There's no one else I trust to take care of him," Hiccup said, patting the Night Fury on his head.

Toothless warbled softly and nudged his rider affectionately. Hiccup flashed the dragon a warm smile and ran his hand along the Night Fury's jaw. The significance of his statement was not lost on Astrid. There was no other dragon-rider pair that was bonded deeper. Hiccup and Toothless were like two halves of a whole—incomplete without the other. For him to give her any level of control over his dragon was breaching a whole new level of trust between them. It was the last part of his heart he had not yet surrendered to her. It was a closely guarded, sacred thing—that undefiniable connection he shared with Toothless. By granting her request to let her in, and experience even a fragment of what he had with his Night Fury, Hiccup was truly giving her everything he had. There would be no part of his life that remained closed off to her—and perhaps that was the real reason he was so hesitant.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, stepping aside to let her climb into his saddle.

Astrid felt her heart pound with anticipation as she settled herself comfortably on the Night Fury's back. She positioned her foot on the pedal, pressing it down experimentally. She glanced back at the tail fin as it readjusted with each change in gear, feeling a whole new sensation of control she did not possess with Stormfly.

"Amazing," she said. "Hiccup, you really are incredible."

He laughed softly, but he looked genuinely flattered by the compliment.

"Aren't you getting on?" she asked, curiously.

"When it's actually time for you to fly him," he answered.

Astrid frowned and replied, "So...what I am I doing now?"

"Memorizing each position of his tail to _my_ satisfaction."

Astrid rolled her eyes and groaned.

"We'll be here all day! I'm a much more of an on-the-job kind of learner," she protested.

"If you think I'm going to let you fly hundreds of feet in the air without a basic understanding of how his tail works, you're crazy!"

Astrid sighed heavily and reluctantly agreed to the lengthy tutorial—there would be no flying Toothless any other way. So she sat there, patiently listening to Hiccup's explanation of each position of the prosthetic tail and how it impacted Toothless' maneuverability and speed. There were only six different gear changes that could be made on the outdated, initial design, and with each one, Hiccup knelt down and guided the pedal into the correct position. Eventually, he started calling out random numbers, one through six, and Astrid was supposed to respond accordingly. At first, she was annoyed by the lesson, but she quickly realized how necessary it was—it took quite a bit of focus to associate the position of the pedal with the desired number and effect, then react quickly enough that it would not impede the dragon's flight when they were actually airborne. It was not as intuitive as she had originally expected—Hiccup had always made it look so easy. Just when she thought she might be getting the hang of it, he further complicated it by spontaneously throwing out directions, alternating with numbers—dive, one, climb, four, glide, three, and so on—that she was meant to correctly translate into tail fin adjustments. With each error she made, she gained a greater appreciation for just how natural it was for Hiccup. Truly, he was a genius—and very patient. They were probably a couple hours into it, and while the dragon seemed to be growing bored and impatient, Hiccup offered nothing but encouragement.

"I _will_ get this," she told him firmly, and Toothless interjected with a skeptical snort. "I will!" she insisted to the Night Fury.

"I know," Hiccup replied. "There's no hurry."

Toothless growled in disagreement and Astrid scoffed.

"Oh, stop," she told the dragon. "It's not that bad."

"It won't be much longer. You've pretty much got the hang of it now," Hiccup said, placing his hand on her knee reassuringly.

"Just not to _your_ satisfaction, right?" she retorted flatly.

He gave her a small, apologetic smile and Astrid sighed in frustration.

"How did you do it? How did you figure all of this out?" she asked.

"Toothless and I were falling to our deaths—I didn't have much of a choice. It was get it right or die trying," he replied.

"Great. That helps me out so much," she said sarcastically.

Hiccup took pity on her and climbed up behind her, placing his hands on her waist.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"You said you're more of an 'on-the-job' learner, right? Well, I think you've come far enough that we'll survive one flight. Maybe, being up there and actually feeling the changes you make will help it all come together?" he replied with a shrug.

Suddenly, Astrid was nervous. In her impatience she wanted nothing more than to get off the ground and apply what she had learned, but she felt ill-prepared, and Toothless was not a very forgiving dragon to fly.

"You're going to regret those words, when I get us all killed," she teased, trying to mask her apprehension.

Hiccup laughed and gave her waist an affectionate squeeze. He confidently replied, "No, you won't."

She took a deep breath and patted the dragon on his thick neck.

"Okay, Toothless. Let's do this," she said.

The Night Fury narrowed his eyes and rolled his shoulders eagerly. He spread out his wings and waited for Astrid to comply. With only a slight hesitation, she clicked the prosthetic into position. There was nothing left to think about at that point—how could she? She had only just registered the adjustment of the tail fin before Toothless was racing through the air in a steep ascent. She had ridden the dragon enough times to be unsurprised by his speed, but it was a much different feeling to enjoy the flight, clinging tightly to her lover, than to be the one in control, responsible for keeping the Night Fury flying smoothly. Sitting in front of Hiccup, she felt more connected to Toothless' power than she ever had, feeling every twitch and pull of his muscles beneath her legs. It took her breath away as the wind rushed through her hair and Berk shrank into a distant swatch of color beneath them. They had only just burst through the thin wisps of clouds before Toothless began to lean forward.

Astrid's brain began to panic as it struggled to recall the various tail positions that she previously committed to memory. In the heat of the moment, it was as if all she had learned in the preceeding two hours had flown from her head. She adjusted the tail fin into what she hoped was the correct position for a straight glide, only to have Toothless veer sharply to the right, losing altitude, instead. The dragon roared in protest, beating his wings furiously as he fought against the unintended gear change.

"Four," Hiccup said calmly in her ear, and Astrid quickly made the correction.

Her heart could finally beat again as Toothless eased into an easy, controlled glide, sailing over the low lying clouds that hovered over their island. The Night Fury emitted a series of short, low growls that Astrid suspected woud be rife with curse words, if dragons could talk.

"There's no need for that, bud," Hiccup scolded. "I wasn't much better, once."

"Sorry!" she apologized, and Toothless snorted, shaking his head irritably. "Sorry!" she repeated again, for Hiccup's benefit.

"You're doing fine," he replied. "We're still alive, aren't we?"

Astrid rolled her eyes and gripped the dragon's leather harness tightly, refocusing on the task at hand. She would have to take subtle cues from Toothless, sensing the slight changes in the dragon's flight path. She concentrated again on the feeling of his shifting bulk, repositioning the tail fin as he began to list to one side. Her assumption proved correct, and the dragon continued to glide smoothly into a wide arc. Excitement rippled through her, and she was emboldened by even a small success. It was an amazing feeling to physically and mentally synchronize with the Night Fury on such a fundamental level.

Toothless began to tip forward, so Astrid changed gears again, causing only a slight, jerky delay before the Night Fury dove towards the shimmering waves below.

"Go, Toothless!" she cried, feeling her eyes water from the chilling wind that battered her face as they raced towards the rolling sea.

The dragon roared happily, forgiving past mistakes with each correct readjustment of his prosthetic. He started to pull out of his dive as the water drew ever closer, and Astrid clicked his tail back into position four in time for Toothless to skim the surface of the waves with his claws. He began to twist to one side again, and Astrid took the chance to select a new position of his fin, startled when it caused the dragon to perform a complete midair roll. Toothless seemed thrilled by the stunt.

"You might want to take it easy, bud," Hiccup warned, but Astrid had no intention of slowing down.

"Are you kidding me? That was amazing!" she exclaimed. "Toothless, do it again!"

The dragon began to twist as he had before, and Astrid quickly repositioned his tail fin. They were inverted once more, and she cheered gleefully as she reached out to touch the sea with her fingertips before Toothless was flying upright again.

Whenever she had been a passenger, Hiccup and Toothless kept their usual aerial acrobatics to a minimum. From that very first flight together, Astrid had grown to dislike the Night Fury's tricks. She could not anticipate them, and so she was often left clinging desperately to Hiccup to avoid being thrown from the dragon—but it was different being in control. She could feel Toothless' movements, and she could correctly interpret his cues. She knew what was coming and granted his wishes with a slight flexion of her foot against the pedal. Together, she and Toothless could accomplish wild stunts. She was not just a passive rider anymore—she was a necessary part of the dragon's flight.

She did not have that same sensation with Stormfly. The Nadder flew independently of her, carrying on according to her own will until Astrid issued a command. Her dragon, as much as everyone else's, had come to understand how she thought, and their bond was strengthened the longer they were together. Their connection allowed Stormfly to accurately guess what Astrid wanted, performing the moves her rider desired before she had a chance to demand them. It lent itself to seamless flying, and Astrid seldom had to give her dragon verbal orders anymore. In that respect, her bond with Stormfly was strong—but never could it go any deeper. There would never be the same level of mutual dependence and need there—not like Hiccup and Toothless. Stormfly did not need a rider to be complete, but Toothless did. The dragon no longer seemed upset by the fact, however. He seemed to actually prefer it, from what Astrid had seen. There was something to be said about a dragon that chose to be entirely dependent on his rider for flight. It spoke volumes about the trust that existed between Hiccup and Toothless. Hiccup had once given Toothless the ability to fly on his own, but the dragon turned around and relinquished that gift of natural, independent flight. It had to be liberating for the Night Fury to belong to someone who truly _knew_ him—understood him. There must have been something as emotionally fulfilling for Toothless, in the bond they shared, that kept him willingly dependent on Hiccup. Whatever the two of them had, Toothless wanted to protect it just as badly as Hiccup did. The dragon wanted to keep his missing piece. Finally, Astrid could be that for the Night Fury—not nearly to the same degree, of course—but for the first time, _she_ fully understood him.

She clicked her heel into position three, and the dragon climbed higher, speeding past the gulls that were gliding languidly in the sea breeze. Toothless trusted her, and she trusted him. Their wills were aligned as they had never been before. What the Night Fury wanted, she did also. The excitement she sought, the dragon was happy to provide.

"Oh, my gods!" she cried. "This is amazing!"

She heard Hiccup laugh at her childlike wonder—not because he found it foolish, but because he was undoubtedly amused. Astrid could only imagine he had been there before, and saw a lot of his younger self in her elation. He said very little as the flight continued, and Astrid was thankful for it. He was allowing her to lose herself in the joy of it all, for it was pure bliss to let go of everything else. She had no worries or concerns—nothing mattered but connecting with the powerful dragon beneath her.

Indeed, it was much easier to operate the tail when she could feel the effects of her adjustments. Any further mistakes were minor—unsteady, jarring movements when she was late in interpreting a cue from Toothless. She did not know how long they were flying among the rolling waves and the sea stacks—an hour, maybe— but she supposed it really did not matter. Just like flying Stormfly, up among the clouds, time had no meaning. Other responsibilities were of no consequence. Being connected with Toothless, it was as close to actually _being_ a dragon as humanly possible.

Astrid could have kept flying for ages, but Hiccup leaned forward and patted Toothless on his side, saying, "Let's take it home, bud."

The dragon warbled in agreement and it was a far less eventful affair to fly him back to Berk. He glided towards the island at a steady speed, and Astrid took a moment to glance down and admire the beautiful animal beneath her. Toothless was one of a kind, and his prosthetic only made him more outstanding, opposed to holding him back. Over the years, she had grown to love him, but learning to fly him, and applying all that she had learned, gave her an even greater appreciation for how complex and magnificent he was.

The dragon landed gracefully beside the Haddock household and Astrid slid from the dragon, combing back her loose strands of hair with her fingers. Hiccup dismounted after her, standing beside Toothless to praise him for his cooperation.

"Wow! I had _no idea_!" Astrid exclaimed, turning to Hiccup with wide-eyed excitement. "I mean, I've flown with you enough times, but to actually be the one in control—_wow!_ The speed and the power! It's like I've never actually flown a dragon before—Don't tell Stormfly, by the way!"

"Your secret's safe with me," Hiccup replied teasingly.

Astrid strode over to Toothless and cradled his head in her hands.

"That was...unbelieveable! You and I will have to do a lot more of that," she cooed to the dragon.

Toothless stared at her skeptically, with drooping ear nubs. She faced Hiccup again, feeling breathless.

"I...you...thank you, for that," she said, smiling at him fondly.

"You're welcome," he replied, running his hand along the Night Fury's back, and Toothless arched into his touch. "Now you know what it's like. I suppose you're the only other person that does..."

As he spoke, he sounded almost disappointed—like he had lost something important.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, grasping his hand.

"It's nothing," he answered dismissively. "I just—Happy birthday, Astrid! Well, I guess it's actually next week, isn't it? Still—_mmppf!_"

He was rambling, as he did when he was nervous or trying to talk his way out of a lie. Astrid shook her head and cut him off with a kiss, reaching up to grip him tightly by his riding leather. He tensed at first, as she forced her lips on his, but she felt him relax against her as the kiss continued. He placed a hand on the small of her back as they broke apart slowly, still standing incredibly close. Their eyes met and Astrid could see the conflict in his eyes. It went back to everything she had suspected before—for the first time, he was truly exposed. She had come to know what it was like to fly Toothless—to connect with him on a deeper level. Subsequently, it meant she had reached Hiccup on a deeper level, as well. In her effort to get closer to Toothless, and close that last mysterious gap between them, she had unknowingly become closer to Hiccup—closer than anyone else could ever get. There was nothing left that was exclusively his. She had touched every part of his life, and that very last fragment of privacy and trust was the most precious gift he could have ever given her.

"I'm...I'm glad you can fly Toothless," he said quietly, tracing the end of her long braid with his fingertips.

"I know it must've been hard for you...to let that go," she replied.

"Let what go?"

"That last piece of you."

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They kissed again, deeper, and Astrid surrendered herself to it. Their intimacy was the only thing in the world more satisfying than riding dragons.

"It wasn't as difficult as you'd think," Hiccup said as their lips parted once more. "I've told you before, Astrid...you can have all of—_Toothless!_"

Not wanting to be left out of all the affection, the dragon had crept up on the distracted lovers and interjected his own feelings by catching them both with a long, wet, sweep of his tongue. They broke apart, desperately wiping the sticky saliva from their skin in disgust, while the dragon just "laughed".

"What was _that?"_ Astrid asked, indignantly, shaking of thick ropes of Night Fury slobber.

"It's this new thing he does," Hiccup said, irritably. "Normally, he only does it to me, but I guess, well...you're his now, too. Congratulations," he added sarcastically.

Astrid considered the Night Fury as she tried to wipe her face clean. Toothless was staring back at her with rounded pupils and perked up ear nubs. It was endearing, while the sticky saliva was not, but she could not stay angry. She had come to accept that the dragon, and all his oddities, would be a permanent fixture in her life. After all, Hiccup was hers, and so Toothless was her dragon, also. Conversely, if she belonged to Hiccup, then she was Toothless' human, too. Such was the nature of their entire relationship—her, Hiccup, and Toothless. The Night Fury and his rider were inseparable, and as Astrid grew closer to one of them, it meant she inevitably grew closer to the other. Of course, Toothless would never truly be _hers_, in the same way that Stormfly—no matter how much she cared for Hiccup—would never belong to anyone else but Astrid. However, to be both loved and accepted by the Night Fury as a necessary part of Hiccup's life was comforting. Learning to fly the dragon had forged a whole new bond between them than had drawn her even deeper in to Hiccup's world—the place he fled to to escape the rest of Berk and all the stresses that hung over him. It was a strange and unique triangle the three of them were a part of, but it was only fitting for a young man and his dragon that were, themselves, strange and unique.

She smiled to herself as Hiccup and Toothless wrestled one another—the Night Fury trying to adorn his rider with more affectionate slobber, while Hiccup tried his hardest to push the dragon back and hold his massive jaws shut. Their relationship, though Astrid had gotten to experience a part of it, was still very much their own. They were animal and trainer one moment, best friends the next, but they could also pick on each other with all the mercilessness of siblings. _Boys_, Astrid thought, in exasperation.

But they were _her_ boys, and the gods only knew how deeply she had come to love them both.

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**Author's Note:** Fulfilling the request by one of my dearest readers, Blue Violet Rose. You wanted some Astrid and Toothless bonding, and here it is, my friend! I hope it meets your expectations. Kind of lengthy for one of my typical one shots, but I was thinking about a line Astrid said in HTTYD2. She tells Hiccup "I'll have to fly Toothless, because you'll be too busy..." but we've never seen anyone else learn how to properly fly Toothless. I mean, Stoick hijacked him and crashed him into some things, much to Hiccup's horror—but this prompt gave me the opportunity to explore my own thoughts on how Astrid might've come to learn to fly the Night Fury.

It's like learning to drive a stick-shift! :D

Viking Facts n' Such:

*björr- "Until the last ten years or so, philologists thought that _beor_ and _björr_ were derived from the word for barley, and it is only recently that it was realized that the term almost certainly referred to cider (whether from apples or pears) during the Viking Age."

**Vikings had a 12 month calendar, but they only counted 2 season: Summer and winter. Early winter here refers to mid autumn. I saw some orange foliage in HTTYD2, so I am _assuming_ it takes place sometime in the fall.


	4. Emotions Are Hard

**Author's Note: **This prompt covers two times periods for the majority of it— During the first HTTYD film, and during my first fic, _Affairs Of the Heart, And Other Things Vikings Don't Talk About_. The opening scene of pre-Snoggletog festivities occurs shortly before "Temper" in my one-shot collection, _One Year, And A Dozen Words._ Hopefully, that won't be too confusing. I'll be time skipping, is what I'm trying to say. Hiccup and Astrid will be either 15 or 18, depending on which flashback you're reading at the time. They are 18 in the opening, wintery setup. Are we sufficiently confused now? Good.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the HTTYD franchise. I just like to borrow the characters for my amateur writing to make Hiccup and Astrid kiss and stuff. That's what you're here for, right?

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Astrid dusted the snow from her hair as she squeezed into the Great Hall, trying to keep the double doors as close together as possible before slamming them shut behind her. The chilling winds were whipping furiously outside, and Berk was relentlessly battered by the icy gales of the Archipelago's long, harsh winters. It was common, for anyone brave enough to venture outdoors, to seek shelter by the roaring fire pits of the Great Hall when the temperature dropped too low and all feeling vanished from the face and fingers. A bowl of stew and a mug of ale or cider was often required to bring warmth back to the body before braving the elements once more.

Vigorously rubbing her hands together, Astrid sought out the usual table she shared with her friends. Even when they were in short supply, it was rare that any other Hooligans occupied their seats. Her little group often joked amongst themselves that the other Berkians were afraid to catch the "twinsanity"—a contagious disease that struck its victims with an incurable, yet temporary, state of asshattery.

She spotted Fishlegs, Snotlout, and Tuffnut at their table, each with a drink in hand. Ruffnut and Hiccup were nowhere to be seen, much to Astrid's disappointment.

"What's up, boys?" she asked, plopping down beside Fishlegs.

She exhaled warm breath onto her hands, feeling as though tiny pinpricks were sticking her fingers as they began to regain feeling.

"Trying to ride the storm out," Snotlout answered. "I'm waiting for the winds to die down a little before I try to make it home."

"You might be here overnight, then," Astrid replied. "Gothi predicts it will get worse before it lightens up."

"I already have a nice patch of floor picked out by the casks of ale, just in case," he said, grinning.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Tuffnut asked her, curiously. "I thought you'd be off somewhere else, wrapped around Hiccup—or him around you. However you guys like to make that happen."

Astrid glanced down at her hands, pretending to find their numbness fascinating as she hid the discomfort on her face. The feeling did not need to return to her cheeks for her to know she was blushing slightly—the curse of a fair complexion. Just because that had been her initial plan, did not mean the other boys needed to be made aware of it.

"Where is Ruffnut?" Astrid wondered, evading the male Thortson's question with her own.

Tuffnut snickered and replied, "She lost a bet—which one of us could hold our breath the longest before passing out—and so she's mucking out Barf and Belch's stall. I bet she's having a rough go of it. Ever try to rake out frozen dragon shit?"

Astrid wrinkled her nose and responded, "Can't say that I have..."

Snotlout and Tuffnut cackled gleefully at Ruffnut's undoubted misery, clinking their mugs of ale together.

"Dude, she's going to be so pissed at you," Snotlout said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

"She already is. She cursed me out so bad before she left the house. It was awesome," Tuffnut replied with a wicked grin.

Astrid shook her head and glanced over at Fishlegs, who was being uncharacteristically silent. He had an empty tankard in one hand, while propping up his dropping head with the other. The occasional loud slam of the Great Hall doors startled him awake, but only for a moment. He would then mumble something unintelligible before nodding off again—a telltale sign that the larger boy was, in fact, quite drunk. For his size, he was surprisingly susceptible to the effects of a small amount of alcohol. Fishlegs never sought to get utterly wasted whenever he drank, but as the weather turned bitter and their dragons were grounded, there was little else for a young, restless dragon rider to do around their frozen little village. With Snoggletog only a few days away, a surplus of food and drink was easier to come by than it would be during the rest of the brutal winter months.

"How long has he been like this?" Astrid asked curiously, kicking Fishlegs in the shin, beneath the table.

The other Viking snorted and just dropped his head to the table with a faint groan.

"Maybe a half hour?" Snotlout answered with a shrug. "Trust me, it's an improvement compared to how he was behaving earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"He was carrying on about 'poor Meatlug is sad because she can't fly in this weather.' Poor widdle Gwonckle is pouitng, and it breaks his widdle fishy heart," Snotlout said, mockingly. "Then he started blubbering like a little bitch. It was lame."

Astrid felt a twinge of pity for the larger young man. Fishlegs was always enduring the others' teasing for being particularly sensitive—a trait which was only amplified by the inhibition-lowering effects of a few stiff drinks. He would inevitably end up passing out, but not before he became over emotional, crying over something relatively insignificant or shouting out procclamations of love to each of his friends—particularly Hiccup, who was always so tactful and good-natured about it.

"At least he isn't an angry drunk, like my sister," Tuffnut offered, taking a sip of his own ale.

"Or a pompous, boastful ass," Astrid added, staring at Snotlout pointedly.

He was oblivious to her quip as he chuckled into his mug. Often the punchline to so many jokes, she wondered if he had conditioned himself to be deaf to them.

"What kind of drunk are you, Astrid?" Snotlout asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"Not the kind that would ever give _you_ the time of day, if that's what you're getting at," she retorted.

"You've never done anything you regretted? Never gotten overly emotional on a little bit of wine or mead?"

Tuffnut barked out a short laugh, slapping his hand against the table.

"Come on, Snotlout! Astrid doesn't cry!" he exclaimed. He then turned to Astrid and asked, very seriously, "I mean, are you even able to cry?"

"Don't be a moron!" she snapped. "Of course, I can cry."

"_Really?_" Tuffnut inquired, leaning in. "Name one time, in your entire life that you actually can remember."

Astrid was taken aback by his challenge, and she scowled at his smug grin.

"I...there was..."

Snotlout and Tuffnut stared back at her, smirking broader at her hesitation.

"Oh, what does it even matter?" she asked, irritably.

"I knew it!" Tuffnut retorted triumphantly. "You're inhuman."

"So, what's it like, Astrid—to have no feelings, I mean?" Snotlout snickered.

She rolled her eyes and pushed back from the table, deciding that standing in line for a bowl of fish and potato _skause_ was a better use of her time than entertaining two halves of a whole idiot.

"You guys are such dumbasses," she muttered, ignoring their guffaws as she strode away from the table, making a beeline for the nearest cauldron.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, glowering at the floor as she waited for a bowl. It was not that she did not have an honest answer for the two young men, but rather she felt there were details of her life the two of them were not privileged enough to know. In fact, no one was. She had a reputation to uphold, not that it would have been an earth-shattering event to be caught shedding a tear. Like everyone else, Astrid had her weakness—things that tugged at her heartstrings more than others. Oh, she could cried. She _had_ cried—but she did not see the merits in letting anyone else know about it, much less, witness it. She clung to the traditional Viking standards of strength, and a firm, unwavering countenance was preferrable for public grieving than uncontrolled wailing and sobbing. Some expressions of emotion were better left for solitude, where one could be completely unhinged and undignified as they pleased. If she was going to cry, she was going to do so alone, in private, so she could maintain a brave face in the presence of others. That was how Astrid coped, and that was how she liked it—but even still, bouts of crying had been few and far between where she was concerned. Her anguish usually manifested as anger or frustration, but there had been two distinct occasions, in her recent memory, that she allowed herself to succumb to tears. Two distinct occasions she would never confess to another living soul—not even Hiccup. The sad reality was, on both occasions, the love of her life had been the cause of her sorrow.

Hiccup did not have a death wish, but he could be surprisingly reckless and irresponsible with his own life. Astrid had first learned this fact when he had taken on the Red Death, by himself, in an impressive display of courage, and complete and utter lunacy. Thank the gods for Toothless, who had thrown himself into the mass of flames after his unconscious rider. Astrid could not forget the way she had forgotten to breathe, fingernails digging into her skin as she clutched her face in horror. Perhaps she should have realized then that she was in love with him, but even as the tears stung her eyes, gazing at the Night Fury with a mangled prosthetic, she was in denial—that she loved him, and that he could be dead. The relief she felt when Toothless unfurled his wings, revealing an alive and _mostly_ intact Hiccup, was matched only by the boy's own father. She might have cried then, but she held it together—nearly the entire village had been there.

On the return trip to Berk, as the adults packed themselves tightly into the longships that had survived the seige on Dragon Island, Astrid flew beside one particular vessel on the back of the Deadly Nadder. She glided low, parallel to the ship, anxiously casting glances to where Hiccup lie unconscious on deck, his Night Fury curled protectively around him. Gobber, and a number of other Vikings were standing by Stoick, talking quick and urgently, advising their Chief on the grim decision that had to be made.

"He's bleedin' out, Stoick!" one woman insisted. "He won't make it back te Berk unless we _do_ somethin' about it."

"The leg's barely hangin' on as it is—all burnt and tore up like that," Gobber chimed in. "Best te take it now, before he wakes up."

"How will he walk again?" Stoick asked, frowning. "This is my only son ye're talkin' about. I won't trust just anyone te build him a new leg."

"I'll do it," Gobber volunteered. "I think I'm the best Viking fer the job, considering my expertise in the area."

He held up his own peg leg, pointedly.

"Right," Stoick agreed, staring wistfully at what remained of Hiccup's left leg. "Do what ye have te. I'm sure...I'm sure he'll understand."

The was a sudden scramble on deck amidst shouts of, "Tie that leather cord really tight! Tie it right above the—no, no! That's too high. It needs te be a wee bit closer te his—there! That's the spot!" and, "We need an axe! Quickly! The sharpest one ye can find!" Someone also ordered, "Bring a torch! We need te heat up the blade!"

Toothless fidgeted nervously as a crowd of fully grown Vikings approached his human with a heavy axe in hand. He bared his teeth and snarled at them, crouching defensively over Hiccup.

"It's alright," Stoick said, laying his hand cautiously on the dragon's snout. "This will help him. Ye saved him once already, so let us do our part."

Toothless seemed mollified by the Chief's words, and he slowly backed away from his injured human, watching skeptically as several people knelt around Hiccup.

"Do it right, now," Gobber commanded the man holding the axe. "Just one, clean cut. Get it on the first try."

"Would ye shut it? I know how te take a limb off!" the man retorted peevishly.

As he lifted the axe above his head, Astrid could see Hiccup's leg clearly through a gap between two Vikings. Feeling the bile rise in her throat, she turned away quickly as she heard the dull _thud_ of the axe against the deck of the longship. There was no cry of pain and agony to drown out the sound that would echo in her memory. From above her, she heard the twins' united comment of, "_Awesome_!"

She could have cried then, while everyone else was distracted—Odin only knew how badly she wanted to—but no tears came. Her eyes remained dry as they reached Berk. The initial chaos of racing Hiccup back to his house, and the awkward adjustment of the village to the freely roaming dragons took precedence over everything else. Astrid took the necessary time to reassure her parents that she was whole and well before retreating to her bedroom to escape the surrounding madness. Rushing to her window, she threw open the shudders, watching the Haddock household until the number of visitors dwindled down to only Gobber, lumbering up the hill with a bundle of wood and metal under his bulky arm. It was nearly nightfall by that point, but Astrid did not think the Chief would mind. Surely, he would be glad there were people that cared about his son, at all.

Skipping dinner and her parents' inquiries, she hurried through the village toward the largest house, settled atop a hill overlooking the rest of Berk. She hesitated for a moment as she reached the front door, fist poised, but then she knocked softly praying her presence would not be seen as an intrusion in Hiccup's fragile state.

"Come in," she heard Stoick's booming voice call from inside.

Feeling a bit awkward, Astrid pushed open the front door, peering into the dark living room, lit only by the faint flickering fire steadily burning in the hearth. Tentatively, she crossed the threshold, feeling as though she was treading on some forbidden ground—never did she think she would have cause to be in the Chief's impressive house. She closed the door behind her, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She noticed all other furniture had been pushed aside to make room for a single bed, flanked on either side by Stoick and Gobber. Toothless lingered nearby as well, and all three of them glanced up at her as she approached.

"I-I hope I not...I can come back later if—"

"Nonsense!" Gobber interrupted, waving his one good hand dismissively. "Yer welcome te stay, considerin' all ye kids did fer Berk."

Stoick cast Gobber a critical glare, quirking his eyebrow at the man's disregard for his authority in his own home.

"I didn't..." Astrid replied modestly. "It was all Hiccup who..."

She trailed off when she finally got a clear look at him, scraped and bruised as he lie there, looking even smaller than usual in his injured state. The covers were pulled back at the foot of the bed, and Astrid could see the new, crude prosthetic Gobber had just fitted him with. It had a rather unusual, functional design, but it looked painful—a solid block of wood tied to the remains of his leg.

Astrid gripped tightly to the foot of the bed, biting her bottom lip as it trembled. Involuntarily, her eyes begun to water, and she turned away from the two grown men, showing her weakness to Toothless, instead.

"So, I need te talk te ye about that...that thing," Gobber said quickly, grabbing the Chief's attention.

Astrid was painfully aware that both men's eyes were on her.

"What thing?" Stoick replied dubiously.

"Ye know—_that thing_!" Gobber insisted.

Astrid cast him a quick sidelong glance and noticed he was nodding pointedly in her direction. Stoick seemed to catch on.

"Ah, right. Yes. That thing. It's important," he played along, striding towards the door.

Gobber limped after him, shutting the door behind them, leaving Astrid alone with the Night Fury, Hiccup, and her raging emotions. She took a steadying breath, walking slowly towards the head of the bed. There was a stool there, no doubt from where Stoick had been sitting and keeping watch over his vulnerable son, and she pulled it closer, taking a seat.

At first, she just stared at the unconscious boy in front of her, listening to his slow, steady breathing. She did not know what to say—or if she really needed to say anything at all. Would he even be able to hear her, or remember her words when he woke up? She doubted it, but still, she felt like she needed to speak to him—to let him know she was there.

She reached out for him, to brush his bangs out of his face, but her fingers lingered inches from him. Breathing suddenly became difficult, and her vision was blurred by unshed tears.

"Hiccup...I..." she whispered.

Then, suddenly, she was overcome.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and choked out a sob, thick tears streaming down her face, falling into her lap at a constant rate. The more she tried to control it—to hold back the torrent of emotion—the harder she bawled. She could not pinpoint why she was crying as her chest heaved and tears flowed—perhaps it was everything? All at once.

Only days before, she could not stand the sight of Hiccup. She wanted him to disappear. She had gone from indifference to loathing as he stole her glory in the ring. Then, she had learned the truth—the boy had tamed a _Night Fury!_ She hated him even more that—for the lying, for convincing everyone that he was better than her, and for accomplishing something impossible and unheard of. There was _nothing_ about him to like—or so she had thought—until one flight had change all that. It changed her—canged everything she ever believed about dragons and the first Viking crazy enough to ride one.

As she looked down at Hiccup in the present, battered and broken in his bed, she felt nothing but respect for him. Respect and awe. He had endured so much—cruel words, heartless jokes, and physical battery from his cousin. She had ignored him for so many years—treated him as if he was invisible on most occasions. She had been no better than the other teens that ridiculed him. She had treated him so unfairly. He had been so despised and so outcast, and _still_ he had risked so much—for dragons, and for the people who had been nothing but horrible to him for nearly fifteen long years. She did not know anyone else who would do that—who would be so selfless and so foolishly brave.

She sobbed harder, feeling guilty. She felt like a wicked person for doing her part to make Hiccup's life so miserable. She would take it all back if she could. She would start over—get to know him without all the opinions of the other villagers to sway her from befriending him. He had needed someone to lean on, and no one had ever been there. It had taken a _dragon_ to see the worth in a boy the rest of the world had all but discarded. Each sob was cleansing, as if she was purging her soul and making amends for her selfishness. Hiccup was so resilient, never turning to bitterness or depression over his circumstances, that Astrid felt she was crying _for _him. In her tears were years of torment and isolation that Hiccup had so incredibly decided to let go and put behind him. There needed to be some kind of payment—reparations for his loneliness. The more she cried, the more she felt the gods were collecting on that debt.

She had been blind—as self-absorbed as Snotlout, and as totally oblivious as either one of the twins. She wished she could switch places with him and endure his pain, and suffer his injuries—the gods only knew how he was the very last person that deserved any of them. Yet, he had received those injuries anyway, because nobody else would. There was nobody else with his heart and his spirit to make the sacrifices that needed to be made. There was nobody esle like him anywhere, and Berk had almost lost him before anyone had the chance to truly appreciate his worth.

"It's not f-fair," she whispered between heaves. "You don't get t-to d-do this to me—make me care about you, and then nearly get yourself k-k-killed!"

Tears fell a couple of minutes more, as she wrestled her sobs under control. Only when she had regained enough composure did she finally stand up, sniffling and tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

"You better pull through this, Haddock," she warned. "Don't you die for them. Don't you die for me. There's no one here on Berk that's as insane as you are— and right now...we need your particular kind of crazy."

She bent over and kissed his forehead gently, then leapt back in alarm when the tender gesture caused Hiccup to stir. He groaned faintly and turned his head to the side, but did not wake. Toothless perked up excitedly at the movement, but his ear nubs drooped in disappointment when no further progress was made. The dragon made a pitiful noise, akin to a whimper, as he folded his scaly arms and rested his head upon them, looking defeated.

Feeling more optimistic for Hiccup to make a full recovery than she had been, Astrid reached down and grasped his hand tightly, giving it a squeeze. Before she left his side that night, she silently vowed to never take him for granted again.

But that did not last.

Only a short year later did Astrid make the conscious decision to keep Hiccup at a distance, forgetting the vow she had made to herself. Things were supposed to have been easier that way—for the both of them. She treated him as indifferently as she could manage—albeit, under much friendlier terms than the first time. She ignored the sadness in his eyes and the hurt in his voice as she pushed him away. It was easier to overlook it entirely, denying she could be the cause of such emotions in him. She closed herself off to his feelings, convincing herself their friendship had eventually decayed into a cold, yet cordial, coexistence. It was less painful to misinterpret his body language into disinterest in her, because her mind did not want to see that he still cared for her when she could not have him. What a glaring mistake that had been, in retrospect. Her actions then had been no less cruel than when she used to neglect him, entirely. Her words and actions had forced their emotions under pressure, and after three years of bitterness and longing, they could no longer be contained. It had been a wonderful explosion, of course, and she had kissed him then as if she was dying, and his lips were the only thing that could save her. In many ways, such hyperbole seemed accurate with how badly she had ached for him.

Then, reality had intruded. She had a fiance to marry, and Hiccup was the son of the Chief. She could not hold him to an illicit love affair and throw both their reputations into the mud, as badly poor judgment begged her to. She could not have him if her arranged marriage still stood—but Hiccup had found the solution then, just as he had with the Red Death. He willingly threw himself into an impossible situation with a slim margin of survival—for her. He had gotten punched, beaten, choked, _stabbed_—for her. He had risked his life, nearly losing it altogether—for her. She had not asked him to. She had not wanted him to—but something needed to be done, and as usual, he was the only one who was going to do anything about it. There were no expectations of him—nothing that required him to step forward and be her savior—but he loved her. He loved her deeper and more unwavering than she could ever deserve, after everything that had ever transpired between them. So, for the second time, she nearly watched him die, and for the second time, she visited his bedside as he lie there, unconscious.

She found herself alone with him, again—with the exception of the ever-watchful Night Fury—but there were a few changes, that time around. His prosthetic lay on a table beside his bed, instead of fastened firmly to his leg. He was allowed to rest in the privacy of his bedroom, instead of recovering in the middle of his living room for all of Berk's curious onlookers to see. Unlike the first time, Astrid was not hesitant to touch him, and she was not at all shy about lovingly stroking his cheek. She spoke to him often, kissing his lips occasionally and laying her head on his bare chest, listening for his heart and his breathing if he became too still for her liking.

And of course, she had cried for the second time in recent memory.

Her sobs were a lot quieter, and the tears fell a bit slower. She had a better control of her breakdown than she had the very first time—but she was not able to fight it. For the second time she could remember, she shed tears, and they were for the same Viking that had ripped the sobs from her only three years before that.

"You're such a jerk," she told him. "Why do you keep doing this to me?"

She grasped his hand and held it to her chest.

"When are you going to get it through your thick skull that there's no one on this island that is worth even half of you?" she whispered hoarsely, voice thick, "Not even me. I must be st-stupid, falling for such an i-idiot."

She blinked rapidly, spilling a few more tears from her eyes, thankful that only the Night Fury was there to see it. She sniffled and inhaled shakily, trying to slow her sobbing.

"I don't know how I can love you so much, when I hate what you do to me. It doesn't make any s-s-sense," she confessed, before emitting another series of quick sobs.

She laid his hand down gently beside him and brushed his hair back, mindful of the gash on his forehead.

"I hate that I'm so weak for you," she continued, more tears dropping into her lap, "because everyone thinks _I'm_ the st-strong one...but I think we both know that's n-not t-t-true."

Her sobs began to ebb away, leaving only silently streaming tears as her composure slowly returned to her. She pulled the stool closer to the edge of the bed and leaned forward to rest her head on his chest, greatly comforted by the rhythmic beating of his heart. She closed her eyes, sniffling intermittently as the storm of emotions began to ease within her. She dried her eyes by wiping them on the back of her fur-lined bracers.

"Maybe _I'm_ the real idiot," she murmured. "Here I am, bawling over you, and you're never going to know about it, because I'm supposed to be the tough one. I'm not supposed to cry—but then again, you never do play by the rules. That's why you do these stupid, selfless things, isn't it? That's why everyone admires you. That's why you stand out...and Odin, help me, that's why I love your crazy ass, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock."

There came heavy footsteps on the stairs, then, and Astrid sat bolt upright, clearing her throat and straightening her clothes until she looked presentable. Stoick and Gobber came barging in, faces full of concern. They seemed to look right through her, completely oblivious to the fact she had been crying, though it had to be evident all over her features.

"How is he?" Stoick asked. "Any change?"

"Nothing," Astrid replied, "but I don't think he'll be out for too long."

"What makes ye say that?" Gobber asked curiously.

"Because he's the most stubborn Viking I know."

Gobber and Stoick came and went of the course of the next few hours of Hiccup's recovery, but Astrid never left his side, sitting by him well into the evening. She wanted to be there for him, that time around—to be there when he woke up. She wanted him to know that she was not going to cast him aside again. She was his, completely. He had won the right to her, and all of Berk had seen it. He had won her heart long before then, of course, but there was nothing and none to impede them further. He could have her, in every way that he ever wanted, and all the ways he had never once dared to ask her for. He had broken her—her carefully crafted walls and facade—without even the slightest idea of the effect he had on her. Only his dragon knew, and for Astrid, that was good enough. Every last semblance of apathy and callousness had been obliterated by Hiccup's boundless love for her. He had torn her tough demeanor apart, and so he would have to be the one to put her back together again. After all, he was very adept at fixing things.

When he eventually awoke, as she knew he would, he was none the wiser to the tears that had twice been shed for him. His consciousness returned to him, followed closely by his sense of humor, and in the days that followed, conversation between them resumed to the playful banter of years past. Astrid made a lot of time to visit him, tending to his wounds and keeping his spirits high as he coped with the pain that came with healing and bandage changes. She picked on him, when he was up for it, feeling as though the more playful jabs she made at him, the less he would ever come to suspect she had cried over him.

"At least you made it out with all your limbs this time," she often quipped.

"I think Gobber feels cheated out of another project," he replied, carefully moving his right arm around to keep it mobile.

"I think he takes the apprentice thing a little too seriously. Odin knows, you don't need to start looking like him, too!"

"Come on! We're Vikings. Don't you think it would be an improvement?"

Astrid shuddered at the thought.

"I may just vomit in my mouth," she warned.

Hiccup laughed and Astrid felt herself smile at the sound, automatically. It was so good to hear it again after three years of distance.

"Hiccup," she said, placing a hand on his knee, "you have to promise me you're going to stop trying to get yourself killed all of time. I don't know if I can handle it."

"I'm never _trying_ to get myself killed, Astrid," he replied. "Things just sort of...happen in the most unfortunate ways."

"You know what I mean!" Astrid retorted with a frown. "You just have this pyschotic tendency to be so..._you_."

"There's not much I can do about that, I'm afraid. I tried for about thirteen years to stop being me, and it didn't really work out too well. I only managed to be more...well, _me."_

Astrid just stared back at him, sighing heavily. Maybe had he known how badly her heart had broken, seeing him lying there so close to death, he would reconsider the dismissive tone in his voice—but that would involve a confession she was just not willing to make.

"Don't give me a cause to cry over you, Haddock," she said, folding her arms impatiently. "Odin knows, I may not be able to."

It was one of the biggest lies she had ever told.

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**Author's Note:** Fulfilling the request by LittleMissLOL9000. She wanted to see Astrid cry, in-character. A very difficult prompt but I do like a challenge from time to time.

So, uh...nailed it? :/ *shrug*

Reviews are welcome _and totally encouraged!_

Thanks! :D


	5. A Humble, Unspoken Request

**Author's Note:** This one-shot is set some time in the two-week period between HTTYD2 and _This Is All Part Of the Grieving Process_.

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M.

All other chapters have been T so far, so the overall rating for this one-shot collection remains firmly at T, but as per the rules of this site, I have to bump up the fic rating. So, if you are here for just the T-rated stuff, please go ahead and skip this chapter, because it's got plenty of M-rated Hiccstrid in like...a really big way. I don't want to corrupt anyone's pure, virginal mind, is what I'm trying to say.

Okay. For everyone else to whom that warning does _not_ apply, there is Hiccstrid below, because this is me we're talking about, and of course there is. :)

**Disclaimer:** I down't own the HTTYD franchise. Oh, and did I mention, THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M?

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Hiccup kicked the front door closed behind him, leaning back against it with a weary, defeated sigh. He ran his hand over his face, grimacing at the pounding headache the long day had so generously provided. Sixteen hours he had endured the squabbling of old men, each disagreeing with one another's vision on how Berk should be rebuilt. Sixteen hours he had intermittently raised his voice to regain order, only to be drowned out by more ceaseless bickering. Sixteen long, seemingly endless hours he had been consulted, only to have his advice promptly disregarded as the elder Vikings all clambered for greater influence in the wake of his father's death. Never mind the fact that Hiccup was the legitimate heir. He was seen as too young and too inexperienced to lead boldly, as his father had done before him—but it was not for a lack of trying. He wanted to point out that his father was about his same age when he had been passed the responsibility of ruling their small, steadfast village, but no one would have taken the time to listen. He would have thought his accomplishments would give him clout among the older men who supposedly respected him for all he had done for Berk, and had dutifully served his father—but poitics were a messy affair he was only just beginning to understand. Brithright did not matter as much as who could shout the loudest, and he was painfully reminded of that fact every day.

How was he supposed to lead when the influential men of Berk did not view him as a true Chief? How was he supposed to maintain order and command respect when there was no one in his circle of advisors that was on his side? He was tired of being undermined, and he wished he could just walk away, turning over the responsibilities of Chief to someone who actually coveted it—but he could not do that. It was not in him. His father had believed in him, Astrid believed in him, and so many of the other souls around Berk still looked to him for answers and guidance. There were too many people counting on him for him to throw up his hands and quit. He felt compelled to trudge on, fighting for what was his by blood, and what the rest of Berk had entrusted to him.

"Hiccup, is that you?" his mother's voice drifted from her bedroom.

She stepped out into the common living space, looking concerned by his haggard appearance.

"Are you alright?" she asked, hurrying over to inspect him in that fussy way mothers did—there were still some maternal instincts left in her, it seemed.

"I'm fine, mom," he replied, gently easing her hands away from his face. He kissed her cheek and edged past her, adding, "It was a long day. That's all."

He was deeply thankful that the gods had seen fit to return his long-lost mother to him after two decades, but twenty years without her still left him feeling guarded with his emotions in her presence. While he could embrace her, and display all the warmth and affection that was expected from a son to his mother, he was not yet ready to confide in this still very strange and unfamiliar woman. It would be a slow, ongoing process to let Valka into the more private parts of his life—the things a natural introvert kept close to the chest.

"I made you some dinner," Valka said, taking a seat at the table, as if she was expecting some deep conversation over a shared evening meal—he had not even done such a thing with his father.

"I grabbed some dinner before I left the Great Hall," he told her, apologetically. "I didn't know you were cooking. I'm sorry."

Instead of being disappointed, Valka just grinned in amusement.

"Honestly, my cooking is not _that_ bad," she said. "I don't care what Gobber says. Most of the time, it _is _edible."

Apparently, he had inherited his penchant for self-deprecating humor from his mother, too. Hiccup smiled and shook his head, backing towards the stairs.

"And honestly, mom, I already ate—but thank you."

His prosthetic leg hit the bottom stair, and he was about to turn to make his evening retreat, but Valka spoke again.

"That girl...the blonde that is so very fond of you—she is waiting upstairs, in your room," she said, not yet accomplished at hiding her disapproval for their disregard for the propriety of her day.

Hiccup rolled his eyes and hesitated at the base of the stairs.

"She has a name, mom. It's Astrid. You might want to try calling her that since she's my...you know...since she's frequently here, and everything."

Valka cast him a rueful smile and said, "I didn't know it was commonplace to court young ladies in your bedroom."

He sighed heavily, finding such displays of sudden maternal scrutiny unnecessary, given the twenty years he had survived without it.

"Mom, I'm twenty, in a committed relationship with Astrid Hofferson, and the Chief of Berk—I think that allows me certain freedom with whom I choose to allow in my bedroom," he retorted in a sarcastic tone.

As he hurried up the stairs, Valka called after him, "I suppose I should just keep letting her walk on in, then?"

"Always," he answered. "Whenever she wants."

He disappeared into his bedroom before the conversation with Valka grew anymore uncomfortable. At the rate they were going, he was bound to confess to the intimate nature of his relationship with Astrid—though his mother was not naive, and even a simpleton could have guessed what the two of them did behind closed doors. There was just something unsettling about verbalizing his private business to his mother, and he wished to avoid such talk for the time being.

Some of the stress that burdened him lightened considerably upon seeing Astrid sitting on his bed, waiting patiently for him with Sharpshot curled up in her lap. Her face brightened up the moment they laid eyes on each other. It was an automatic response that neither one of them could help. It was as involuntary as breathing.

"_Hiccup_," she said, cradling his Terrible Terror in her arms as she rose to her feet.

The way she said his name could convey so much. In that moment, it was clear that she was pleased he had come home sooner than she had anticipated, and that there was not another living soul she would be more excited to see. By walking through the door, he had made her day infinitely better, even for the fleeting hour or two they would share before sleep claimed them. Often, it was not the words they exchanged that were the most meaningful communication they had. Astrid was not the most emotionally expressive woman, but she told him everything he ever needed to know by how she looked at him, and how she spoke to him. As she stood there, smiling at him, she was telling him with her eyes how badly she needed him, if for no other reason than to connect with the one person with whom she could be as vulnerable as she ever allowed herself to be.

Sharpshot perked up and cried happily, scrambling out of Astrid's arms to scurry across the floor. He crawled up his human's body, settling on Hiccup's shoulder as he waited expectantly for attention.

"Well, it's good to see you, too," Hiccup told the Terrible Terror, scratching the small dragon's head affectionately.

Satisfied, the tiny dragon hovered across the room to the nest he had built for himself in the far corner, basking in the warmth of the candles that enveloped the room in their soft, golden glow.

"Where's Toothless?" Astrid asked curiously.

She strode over to Hiccup, helping him make quick work of shedding the extra layers of leather garb he wore atop his usual attire.

"I set him loose for the night," he answered. "He's probably chasing deer through the woods."

"Or getting a little late night romancing from Stormfly," Astrid replied casually, with a shrug.

Hiccup stared at her sardonically and she just snickered at his expression. He did not know why she insisted there was anything going on between their dragons, but he supposed she enjoyed the reaction she got from him every time she brought it up.

"Come on, Hiccup, you have to admit...a bunch of baby Night Nadders would be something to see—or would you call them Deadly Furies?" Astrid mused.

Freed of his riding gear, he gathered the various pieces of leather and stored them away in the wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

"Neither," he answered flatly, latching it shut, "because it's impossible."

Astrid laughed and sauntered up behind him, wrapping her arms around him as he stood back up. Her hands slid over his chest in the most tantalizing manner, systematically working their way lower on his body, teasing him through the thin fabric of his tunic. The sensual dancing of her fingers normally ignited the blood in his veins, but for whatever reason—by no fault of his lover—he only felt a slight stirring in his heart at her eager touch. Sighing, he gently pried her hands off of him, turning to face her.

"How was _your _day, milady?" he asked softly.

"Oh, you know...chipping away at Bewilderbeast ice...stuffing small shards down the back of Snotlout's tunic, when he wasn't looking...the usual," she replied casually.

She inched closer, simultaneously pulling him towards her in a gesture that left no doubt about what she wanted from him.

"Missing you..." she confessed, "as sappy as it is to say."

"I'm sorry—" he began, but Astrid shook her head.

"Don't do that," she said. "Don't apologize to me for doing your job. You're the Chief, Hiccup. I didn't really expect anything different—at least, not during this adjustment period. Don't worry about me, I'll manage."

He gave her a small smile, appreciating her inextinguishable support. So solid and steady in her own emotions, Astrid was his crutch when he needed it most. Even if the entire world suddenly saw him as a miserable failure, she would still stand beside him, shouting his praises to anyone that listened. He did not take that for granted.

"I'm proud of you, Hiccup," she told him, placing a hand on his chest, bracingly. "You know that...don't you?"

"Yes," he answered, "And you know that I love you, don't you?"

Astrid grinned broadly as their lips hovered inches apart.

"Yes," she whispered.

They kissed deeply and before long, Astrid was trying to steer him backwards, towards the bed, with her hands in his hair. As expected, she was forceful and eager, driving things along at the faster, rougher pace she found the most comfortable. It was how she went about most things, and intimacy was no different. Her tongue teased his bottom lip, asking him to surrender his mouth to her as he had done countless time before. It was both easy and satisfying to allow her fire to consume him, on most occasions. Between the two of them, Astrid was more demanding and particular, and he was more flexible and compromising—but that night, he did not feel so agreeable. That night, he wanted to chase a different kind of thrill—to call the shots. All day long, he had been disrespected and walked over—his authority disregarded. Not that Astrid's dominant sex drive was in any way comparable to the egos and power-grabbing of a bunch of ornery old men, but Hiccup was tired of others trying to wrestle control away from him. Even the commanding way in which one of Astrid's hands dropped down to tug at his clothes was asking him to be more passive than he had any remaining patience for.

He ignored the hand demanding him to strip, and cupped Astrid's face firmly with his own hands. He kissed her harder, and more aggressively than he usually would. He felt her try to pull back in surprise, by the slightest of margins, but when he slid _his _tongue into _her_ mouth, Astrid moaned softly in the back of her throat. She leaned into him, grabbing fistfuls of his tunic again, but more to hold steady against the heady rush of desire than anything else. He had initiated kisses before—stolen as many from his lover as she had taken from him—but, in that instance, the way he was claiming her lips was uncompromising. It did not matter that Astrid wanted things her way, and that he would have enjoyed himself if he gave in to her. As he continued to dominate their kiss, unyielding in spite of the quiet whimpers against his lips, it validated him to command _some _level of control over even one aspect of his abysmal day.

It was then that he felt his desire begin to burn. It was a different kind of high entirely, to be the forceful one, and he understood why his lover found it so appealing. Usually, he either gave into whatever Astrid wanted, or their passions were equally matched—the latter being the more typical, mutually satisfying outcome. In two years, he had never forced himself on his lover beyond an unxpected kiss and telling her plainly that he wanted her—not that he could recall an instance in which she would have denied him had he tried a more aggressive approach. As much as she liked to tease that he could not resist her, the very same was true of her attraction to him—but it was simply against his principles to take what he wanted without going through the necessary, polite steps to get it, first. He was not that kind of "alpha-male" that one might find strutting around Berk—his cousin, being a prime example of such a man.

"Hiccup...?" Astrid asked softly as they broke apart for air.

Their eyes locked as they considered one another, both slighty breathless. While his actions suggested a far less gentle demeanor, Hiccup knew he could never convey that same feeling with his eyes—Astrid could always read him in them. Or, at the very least, her interpretation was often eerily accurate. He also shared a similar gift, however—clearly understanding the confusion and shadow of excitement flickering in her deep, blue eyes as she gazed back at him.

"Sorry," he murmured, choosing to address her bewilderment. "I know this isn't usually how things—I...I just..."

"Rough day?" she interjected, caressing the side of his face with a warm smile.

"You coud say that," he replied, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips in an affectionate manner that was much more familiar to the both them.

"You know..." she began, a sly grin spreading across her face, "I think I get it."

He felt relieved. The longer they were together, the less really needed to be said—not that words did not have their effectiveness, or the occasional unburdening of one's soul was not particularly therapeutic. In certain situations, however, it was simply more comfortable for the discussion to be mainly nonverbal. They had come a long way from the days of _Vetrnaetr_ two years past, where Astrid had implored him to be more forthcoming with his feelings. Sometimes, when his thoughts ran deeper than the emotions playing out on his face, she still prodded him to speak candidly, but it had become normal, however, for her to pick up on what lingered right beneath his calm, composed silence. He did not want to relive his miserable day and failings, nor did he want to explain how it had led him to crave any feeling of empowerment—in whatever manner he was able to obtain it. He wanted Astrid to be his remedy, as she had been so many times before. She was often the cure for his woes in any way he required, and she seemed to know just what he needed, exactly when he needed it—even if he would not admit to those needs aloud.

Astrid reached down and attacked the fastenings of Hiccup's pants, gazing at him in the challenging way she did whenever they engaged in a dragon-related competition of superiority.

"You don't have to ask for my permission, Hiccup. Ever," she said in a sultry whisper. "You already have it. You can just take what you want. I can't think of too many instances where I'd turn you down."

He appreciated the sentiment, but it just was not in his nature—still, she had given him the permission he needed, at that moment, to pretend that it was. He grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away from his pants, and with a few steps forward, he backed her against the wall near the foot of his bed. Far from looking alarmed, she stared up at him, intrigued.

"I want you to take off your clothes," he told her, releasing her wrists and placing his hands against the wall on either side of her head. Deciding the command still sounded a bit weak, he added, "All of them. Now."

When she hesitated, grinning playfully as she tested his patience, he could not help but break the act with a smirk.

"Don't make me ask nicely," he warned, sarcastically, "because I will."

They both laughed softly, and then Astrid complied. She started with her braid, undoing it carefully, before she began to discard each article of clothing, one by one. It was a very new kind of enticing to watch his lover undress just inches from him, exposing her bare skin as she remained "trapped" between his arms. He could only watch, transfixed, as each garment hit the floor.

She was perfect. Every time he saw her naked, the same thought echoed in his head. It was as if the gods, at the time of her creation, looked into the future and made all that was Astrid from the fabric of his fantasies. There was no better explanation for it—for how every curve of her body never failed to excite him. It was a deeper arousal beyond the appreciation of a stunningly gorgeous woman. It was a desire for what was flawless, and what was _his_. Completely nude, she stared back at him, unashamed.

"My Chief is satisfied, I take it?" she asked smugly, hands on her hips.

"Even more so if you don't call me that," he replied.

"It's who you are, Hiccup," she said, pressing her body into his—it was distracting.

"Not when I'm with you."

She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "But right now, I want you to be."

The words hit him right between the legs, and his lips were instantly on hers again, silencing any further flirtation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying a hand in his hair—she did seem to have some kind of "a thing" for it. In two years, kissing Astrid had not yet lost its appeal, and he doubted it ever would. His hands were on her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, desperate to feel every bit of her. She struggled against him, of course, fighting his tongue and his grip to regain the upper hand, in spite of her moans. She could have easily freed herself—he was very much aware of his girlfriend's ability to take him down, if she wanted to—but she was playing along, happily. She squirmed only as much as was necessary to keep it exciting, and he doubted she was ignorant to the effect all the additional friction was having on him. His pants were already uncomfortably tight, and the way Astrid was deliberately rubbing up against him was only making it worse.

He pulled back long enough to remove his tunic and Astrid ran her hands over him, hungrily. Never, in all his awkward teenage years, would he have imagined anyone could want him so much—Astrid, least of all. He was far from what came to mind as desirable—or rather, he had been for so many years. It was difficult to completely shed all feelings of worthlessness that had been mercilessly drilled into him since he had developed enough of an understanding to realize what it was that made him so different—that had made him so despised. To think that Astrid, once the very embodiment of traditional Viking values, had come to love all it was that set him apart from the rest of his tribe, was surprising. But it was not just her. Suddenly, there had been advances thrown at him from the most surprising of places, and the parents of more than one eligible young maiden had approached his father on the business of marriage contracts. To Stoick's credit, he had turned these offers down. For all their misunderstandings, there was one thing the former Chief could not overlook, and that had been Hiccup's feelings for Astrid, in spite of all the bitter drama that had once transpired between them.

That was in the past, though. Thank Odin. In the present, it was his bed she frequented, and his heart she held in her care. The way she looked at him then, as her fingers danced over his chest, was an expression he used to only see in his dreams—the kind to which he was far too proper to confess. The kind of dreams that used to wake him with nothing but an aggravated groan and frustration, as he kicked off his blankets while Toothless stared back at him in the darkness, silently judging him—or at least, Hiccup was convinced that he did as he projected his own feelings of shame and embarrassment on to his dragon.

As Astrid touched him, he trailed his hands down her back. If she wanted a moment to caress and admire his body, he would not interrupt her. After all, it had once been all he ever wanted, to be the object of her affection. She did not mind his scars or imperfect physique. He was exactly what she desired, and so there was no other way he would rather be. After years of being ignored or insulted, it filled him with a sense of pride and validation to matter so much to someone. To be Astrid's only one—the only man who had ever touched her. The only man who had ever loved were some things—carnal things—that spoke to whatever inherent masculine urges he possessed. The knowledge that he, alone, could please and satisfy his lover was one such notion integral to what made him feel like a man. In the recent days of being disrespected, condescended, and marginalized as the new and inexperienced Chief, he clung to the moments in his life where he felt truly in control of something.

"Tell me you want me," he murmured, bringing one hand between her thighs. "Tell me how badly you need this."

Perhaps it was asking a bit too much to expect Astrid Hofferson to beg for him, but he would take any admission of desire she gave him. He was not used to giving her orders when it came to sex, and the words sounded a bit foreign coming from his mouth.

"Hiccup...don't," she hissed, trying to grind down against his hand, seeking that contact. "Don't tease."

"That's not how this works," he retorted.

Astrid practically growled in frustration and he grinned. Ever since their relationship had become physically intimate, she had been quite fond of his hands, and what he could do with them, in particular. In all honesty, whatever technique he had developed had been trough trial and error—who else could he have possibly gone to for advice on sex he was not supposed to be having? He had not expected he had any hidden talents in the bedroom, but he had been both pleasantly surprised and delighted to discover he was wrong—though, probably not as much as Astrid had been.

Her head fell back against the wall with a soft _thump_ and she closed her eyes with a faint groan.

"_Please_, Hiccup," she said. "If you don't know I want you by now, then there's no hope for you."

He could not help but laugh softly, and Astrid even cracked a smile. It was hard to stay completely in-character when they were nothing but a couple of love-drunk fools, but her half-hearted plea was sufficient enough for him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck as he slid his fingers into her, relishing the combination of startled gasp and wanton moan that escaped her.

"Yes..." she whimpered, gripping his shoulders tightly as she fought the weakening of her knees.

His right shoulder twinged a bit as she squeezed, but he ignored the old injury, far more concerned with moving his fingers in whatever way that made her come undone. She arched back against the wall, pushing her hips down against his hand as he worked her sex in the expert way he had long since memorized. The speed, the twist and rubbing of his fingertips inside her, the way his thumb teased that sensitive bundle of nerves that made her moan and writhe against him—it was all second nature to him, and it was all so amazing with the effect it had on Astrid. She was beautiful—flawless, even—eyes shut tight with her head tilted back against the wall. He could have stayed there all night if it meant Astrid would be satisfied. It was comforting to know, in the pursuit of his own sexual dominance, he could still please her in the process. For that, he was glad, or else his own desires would have been meaningless. She was making the most enticing little noises while her chest heaved in pleasure. The way she would arch her back pushed her breasts towards him, and he could not resist what was being so willingly offered to him. He brought his other hand to her breasts, caressing each one as he shifted the hand between her legs, pushing his fingers in at a newer, deeper angle that had her cry out.

"It's...it's so..." she panted, desperately grasping at him for something to tether her to the ground, but all she could grab was skin and hair.

Her eyes were glazed over, and she seemed to be somewhere else, teetering out at the very edge of reality. She was going to tumble over the edge into the sea of infinite pleasure and release, and he wanted her to do it. It would be paying him the ultimate compliment, as his lover.

"Do it, Astrid," he whispered in her ear. "Do it for me now, and before we're done, I will make you shout my name a second time."

That was enough.

"_Hiccup_!" she cried, pushing off from the wall to throw herself against him.

She tensed for only a moment, then she was overcome by luscious spasms that coursed through her entire body. She clung to him and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close and steady as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her face was pressed into his neck as she was, momentarily, transported elsewhere—to a place he hoped very soon visit for himself. He continued to touch her in a much slower, gentler rhythm as she gradually came back down from the height of ecstasy. A comfortable quiet descended over the room, with the only sound of significance being Astrid's soft moans against his skin.

"I...I fucking love your hands," she whispered breathlessly, a couple more shudders passing through her.

"I've noticed," he replied with a grin, stroking her hair with his far less occupied hand.

From the very corner of his bedroom, by the bedside table with the candle, came an irritable grunt that caught Hiccup by surprise, nearly making him jump. He glanced over his shoulder at Sharpshot, who was glaring at them both impatiently. The tiny dragon was not amused by their lustful antics and the sleep he had lost as a result.

"Well, by all means, feel free to leave," he told the Terrible Terror sarcastically, gesturing towards the window that was, at the moment, shut tight.

The dragon just snorted and turned his back to them, curling up even tighter in an effort to block them out. Astrid just snickered softly, having regained enough of her composure to stand up straight, without support.

"I guess you can't train dragons to get used to _some_ things," she quipped.

"Perhaps, but you would think he would get the idea by now," Hiccup replied, taking her by the hand.

"Oh? What idea would that be?" she asked as he led her towards the bed.

"This is my room, and you belong to me—and I'm going to do whatever I'd like to you, for as long as I'd like to do it," he answered.

It sounded bizarre to hear himself talk that way. He was behaving contrary to everything he normally valued—tenderness, selflessness, and restraint—but Astrid just smiled, playing along.

"And what would my Chief—"

Hiccup frowned at her used of the word. It really was a buzz-kill for him.

"—have me do?" Astrid asked, tugging at his undone pants in a way that suggested she already knew.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching down for his prosthetic, but Astrid knelt in front of him, beating him to it. He sighed and leaned back against his hands as she removed his metal leg, making quick work of his pants and underwear next. Throwing the unwanted clothing aside, she then reattached his prosthetic with care, handling and caressing the limb far more than he felt was really necessary, but it still fascinated him how enamored she could be with it, at times. Her hands slid up his legs, coming to rest on his knees as she gazed intently up at him. He placed a hand on the back of her head pointedly, but did little else than stroke her hair affectionately.

"You know what I want," he said firmly to maintain the act, but the statement was deliberately vague and open-ended, giving Astrid the option to refuse, if she was so inclined.

"Always do," she replied, smugly.

Without further hesitation, she settled between his legs and took every inch of him into her mouth. The sensation was like lightning surging through every nerve in his body, and he tilted his head back, letting out a throaty moan, as his fingers wound themselves in Astrid's long, blonde hair. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the intense pleasure as she found the perfect pace, coupled with all the tantalizing flicks of her tongue. He had never been with anyone else—had no desire to be—but he doubted there was another woman who could ever know his body as well as Astrid did. With every skilled bob of her head, he felt as though he might come unhinged. It was difficult to feel stressed about anything when her mouth was on him. It did not matter that he struggled for respect and recognition from his supposedly closest advisers on an almost daily basis. In that bedroom, there was ony one person in the entire cosmos that mattered, and she thought the world of him—would do anything for him. Whenever Astrid looked at him, he coud see in her eyes the man he wanted to be. It was the man she saw in him, and he would live his entire life trying to be that person, for she deserved nothing less than the absolute best of him.

"_Stop!_" he said urgently, nearly losing it from the vibrations as she moaned softly around him.

With one last sweep of her tongue, she pulled back and gazed up at him from the floor, looking rather pleased with herself.

"You can be so predictable," she told him teasingly.

He quirked an eyebrow at her and replied, "Oh, really? Stand up, then."

Astrid did as he commanded, and he immediately grabbed her by the waist, tossing her as gently as he could against the bed. She let out a small yelp of surprise as she fell, quite unceremoniously, against the covers. She glared back at him a little indignantly, but he just grinned, knowing there was no real malice behind it. As he crawled over her, he thought she looked absolutely gorgeous, sprawled out naked in his bed with her face framed by her flaxen hair shimmering in the candlelight. He laid down on top of her, and her arms came around him at once. They kissed softly at first, and for a moment, Hiccup enjoyed the sensation of their bodies pressed together. For a moment, he thought he could stay like that forever—holding Astrid and reveling in the feeling of every inch of her against every inch of him—but there was a need gnawing at the core of him that eventually won out. As patient as he was, there were certain things that even he could not ignore.

He lowered his head to her breasts, paying them proper attention with his mouth as his hand slipped down between Astrid's legs again. He was rewarded with a strangled moan as she arched her back and fisted her hands in the covers.

"Hiccup...just do it," she groaned softly. "You...you don't have to be sweet about it."

He gazed up at her and she stared back at him through eyes half-lidded with desire.

"I don't intend to be," he replied.

She looked down at him quizzically, but he did not give her much time to contemplate his response. He positioned himself between her thighs, and without any real forewarning, he buried himself inside of her with one, firm push. They both moaned in unison, and it was perfection.

"_Yes!_" Astrid hissed, wrapping her legs around him.

He shared the sentiment, but he was less concerned with speaking than he was with another hard thrust of his hips. Astrid gasped, bracing her hands against the headboard, and for a moment he was concerned he had caused her some pain or discomfort, but she only seemed more aroused by the rougher love-making.

"Harder..." she whispered, puting any fears to rest.

He furrowed his brow in lingering doubt, but did as his lover requested. He slid a hand beneath her hips, holding on to her tightly as he drove into her more forceful than before. It felt wonderful to him, but it was Astrid's look of immense pleasure that encouraged him more than anything else. It did not matter that he had been calling the shots. There was one fact that would never change—her needs first, and his second. It was only an added bonus that Astrid took such pleasure from the fulfillment of his own desires. With a hard, steady rhythm, he took from her what he wanted—what he needed—and she was so deeply satisfied by the change of pace. He was as captivated by her response to him as he was by the sensation of it all. She was ablaze for him, and as shamelessly indulgent of his body as she ever was. It allowed him to take her with complete abandon, knowing that whether it was more of his pleasure or her pleasure, it did not matter. They would both be mutually fulfilled. In the throes of passion, their satisfaction was the same.

Time was completely irrelevant in the sea of sensations that had swallowed them. There was the warmth of the candle and the heat generated by the both of them. The faint, flickering flame cast a dreamlike, golden glow on the walls, the ceiling, the floor...as well was the sweat-slicked bodies wrapped desperately around one another. There was the sound of Astrid's soft whimpers mingling with Hiccup's heavy breathing, somehow audible in spite of the bed's creaking protest. The taste of Astrid's skin and the sight of her completely lost in him drove Hiccup closer to his own release. All around them, assaulting their senses, was nothing but all the sights, sounds, tastes, and textures of sex.

As suddenly as before, Astrid tensed up all around him, pulling him closer and deeper in a way that left him breathless. She shouted his name in a muffled cry, face pressed into his shoulder, and he could no longer hold back his own release as his lover came for him a second time. He, too, threw a hand up against the headboard, sighing Astrid's name as they fell, together, into that small slice of pleasurable infinity. They both lost all control, swept up in the rush of immeasurable ecstasy as their consciousness mingled far out on some distant shore, unreachable by reality. It was blissful and satisfying—a sense of completion that was not obtainable by any other means. Hiccup could have stayed there, as long as Astrid was with him, but there was some inevitable gravity that always brought him crashing back to the world.

He could not recall when he had laid his head on Astrid's chest, but her heartbeat and the gentle touch of her fingers combing through his hair first captured his attention. He opened his eyes slowly and took a deep breath of total contentment, his brain not yet functional enough for speech. He lifted his head up to gaze at Astrid, and she was smiling back at him, her blues eyes filled with warmth and adoration.

"That was amazing," she said, tugging on one of his braids.

"My pleasure," he murmured. "Or yours...whichever. Same difference, really."

Astrid laughed softly and caressed the side of his face. He leaned into her touch, feeling as though the whole rest of the island could have caught fire around them and he would not have it in him to care. It would be someone else's concern—he could be Chief again in the morning.

"Did you...get what you needed?" Astrid asked curiously.

He smirked and answered, "And then some. Thank you."

She grinned broadly and replied, "You really have to stop thanking me for sex, Hiccup. It's not really doing you some big favor if I'm also in it to get mine."

He leaned up and kissed her forehead before lying down beside her.

"Then don't think of it as thanking you for sex," he said. "It's more of a 'thank you for indulging me' when I come at you with some strange, new request."

She rolled onto her side, shuffling back against him until they were comfortably molded together like two pieces of a puzzle.

"I don't mind. You rarely ask me for anything," she told him as he draped an arm over her.

"I don't have to," he murmured as sleep began to overtake him. "You already give me everything..."

His eyelids grew heavy and as they fell closed, he heard Astrid snicker to herself.

"What?" he whispered, battling his exhaustion for a few moments longer.

"So, I guess I just made it with the Chief of Berk? Kind of scandalous, when you think about it."

Hiccup just gave a faint chuckle and replied, "No, Astrid. The Chief of Berk just made it with you."

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**Author's Note**: And there you have it, the smluffy one-shot that changed the rating of this entire collection, complete with M-rated vagueness and euphemisms. Fulfilled the request by Akai Tsuki for a dominant!Hiccup sexy stress-relief fic—or rather, as dominant as I could comfortably make him and still keep him somewhat in-character while he's acting intentionally out-of-character. Sooo, I hope this lives up to your expectations, friend? Sorry if he isn't as dominant as you would've liked me to make him, but I mean...this _is_ Hiccup, we're talking about. I could only push it so far without going, "Pffffft! No way."


	6. Unorthodox

**Author's Note:** Back to T-ratings...for now, anyway. This one-shot takes place during the timeframe of my very first fic, _Affairs Of the Heart, And Other Things Vikings Don't Talk About__**.**_ It takes place after the last chapter, but before the epilogue—it also predates _Awkward In The Best Possible Way_. Hiccup and Astrid are newly together, but they have not yet been physically intimate at this point. Just more workinf through the kinks of new romance. They are both 18.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own HTTYD, but sometimes I really wish that I did.

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There was no denying that the way Astrid chose to communicate and express affection was a bit unorthodox. A punch to the arm or shoulder could convey a wide range of emotions from "I think you're an idiot" to "I sort of, kind of love you right now"—and just about everything in between. It was not that she had any sort of reservations about speaking her mind. She was one of the most forthcoming people she knew—unless it involved deep, sentimental subject matter. It was just one more way she and Hiccup differed—had _always_ differed.

Astrid could easily share her thoughts, making her opinions and desires known in a very matter-of-fact way. Reputed to be loud and outspoken, if she was mad, she would share exactly why she was so miffed. She would lay out the facts as if she was reciting a to-do list, _if _she was not busy throttling the object of her irritation. But that was the extent of it. Any deeper probing of feelings left her unusually silent and uncomfortable—remnants of the tough exterior of her earlier years. She was content to share the 'why' of her emotions, but not how they affected her, or how strongly she felt them. If she wished to communicate a particularly potent sentiment, a punch to the arm would often suffice, and the recipient was left to determine where the blow fell on the spectrum of feelings. Hiccup, however, was the opposite. On the whole, he kept his thoughts to himself, often retreating inward for deep contemplation—the remnants of being a social outcast. Astrid had watched him for years, wondering what was going on in his brilliant mind whenever he looked particularly pensive. If asked, he was quick to respond with "nothing important" or "it really doesn't matter", but Astrid knew there was a vast sea of thoughts and emotions under his calm, genial facade. She had tapped into it on occasion, and once Hiccup was presuaded to be forthcoming, he could easily articulate his feelings in a way Astrid could not. She admired him for it. There had to be some measure of relief that came with candor of feeling.

She certainly needed to unburden her soul. While she was elated to finally be with Hiccup, she felt there was a dark cloud that hovered over her—one that she tried to ignore, since admitting its existence made her feel weak. There was a lot of lingering emotions since the fight between Stronggut Svenson and Hiccup—guilt, anger, anxiety, just to name a few. As a matter of fact, she was still weighed down by the unresolved frustration and regret of three years of distance from the person she truly loved. She carried all of that negativity around, day to day, dampening her otherwise bright mood. Most people did not notice—too wrapped up in their own concerns to think that Astrid might be carrying any underlying troubles. After all, did she not voice her complaints? That was the perception, anyway. She did not hesitate to admit she was in a sour mood, beneath the smile she wore, in the event anyone bothered to ask, but she was not at all tempted to share why. It involved too much vulnerability, too much candidness, and too much of everything that made her squirm. Therefore, her feelings went unresolved, and most everyone was fooled—except Hiccup, perhaps. It should have been easy to discuss those feelings with him, since there was no one else on Berk who could better understand and empathsize. If she could not turn to him, she had nowhere else to go, but besides confessing she had some remaining issues with how events had unfolded, she could not bring herself to be more vulnerable. Not even for Hiccup, who was probably the least judgmental soul she knew, and completely deserving of her total honesty.

"Have you...heard anything I've said?" Hiccup asked, snapping her out of her silent musings.

She glanced up from across the table, noticing he was staring straight at her with a quirked eyebrow and his charcoal pencil poised over a page in the Book of Dragons. Typically, Fishlegs kept the old tome, but whenever it needed updating, Hiccup was usually the Viking to do it.

"Was it something about dragons?" she replied, smiling innocently.

He rolled his eyes payfully and set the pencil down before closing the book in front of him.

"It may surprise you that, on occasion, I _have_ been known to talk about something other than dragons," he said. "This comes as a shock to a lot of people. Feel free to sit down, if you feel lightheaded."

Astrid laughed at his sarcasm and pulled a woolen blanket tighter around her body. It was late summer, but Berk was far from a tropical paradise. Winds from the North had blown in a bitter storm, dropping the temperature throughout the archipelago. The leaves on the trees had already begun to change, and she anticipated the quick approach of winter that year. She had all but forgotten the howling winds and thick sheets of hissing rain battering the village, but a sudden clap of thunder rudely reminded her of the storm raging outside. She had been caught in the torrential downpour, when the skies had suddenly opened up over Berk. She imagined she looked rather pathetic, knocking on Hiccup's door, drenched to the bone. He had been perplexed, but no less delighted to see her, immediately inviting her inside and out of the dismal weather. It been awkward to find herself standing in the Chief's house for the first handful of times, after the _svipting_, but she and Hiccup had already been together for a month, and it had become completely natural to be wherever he was, regardless of the location.

"Is something bothering you, Astrid?" Hiccup asked, and the concern on his face was genuine.

She sighed heavily, though it was drowned out by another roll of thunder. He had asked her that very same question, more than once, and Astrid did not know if she was more exasperated by the question itself, or that Hiccup was so eerily perceptive. The only indication she ever gave that something was amiss was her intermittent, toughtful silence. Apparently, for Hiccup, it was enough of a hint. It was amazing how, after only four short weeks of dating, he came to know her so well.

"It's nothing that hasn't already been on my mind," she answered, waving her hand dismissively. "It's been a crazy few years, hasn't it?"

It was yet another truthful admission of what was playing out on the surface of her emotions, without revealing anything deeper, or meaningful.

"A bit of an understatement, but yes," he replied.

A powerful gust of wind rattled the front door in its frame, and Astrid automatically inched closer to the fire blazing in the hearth. Whenever it stormed on Berk, it did not matter where one sought shelter—the damp chill in the air permeated everything. Still, it felt warmer in Hiccup's house than anywhere else on the island, but Astrid suspected it was for reasons beyond a simple fire and a wool blanket.

She glanced over at Hiccup, only to find him lost in his own thoughts, brow furrowed. It was not a look that was unusual for him, but he had so recently been in talkative mood.

"Astrid..." he said softly, after a moment, "you know you can tell me anything, don't you?"

She was taken aback.

"Well, sure I do. I tell you just about anything that comes to mind already," she replied.

"But not everything?" he asked, gazing up at her intently.

She instantly felt defensive, which was utterly ridculous considering she was with Hiccup, of all people. There was nothing accusatory in his eyes—only a glimmer of regret.

"Do _you_ tell me everything?" she retorted.

"I...I try to," he answered, "whenever you ask."

She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly, beneath the blanket. She was trying to throw up her walls again, which had protected her all throughout her childhood and early teenage years. There was no sense to it when she was alone with Hiccup, but it was a defense mechanism as involuntary as breathing. So newly in love, there were still things to learn, roles to define, and boundaries to test.

"You mean whenever I'm forced to nag," Astrid said, frowning. "I don't see the point in digging too deeply when I've already told you what's on my mind. That's more forthcoming than you can claim to be, on most occasions."

"I guess," he replied, sounding a little disappointed in her attitude. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't me."

Astrid felt a stab of guilt. Hiccup could crumble her defenses with a simple statement. It was not fair.

"I wanted to make sure we were still alright," he continued. "That you hadn't...reconsidered things. I know it's probably stupid of me, but after the past three years, I have a lingering fear we might go back to that. I'm not sure I'd survive it. Your silence lately has me a bit paranoid."

The more desperately she tried to prop up her walls, the faster he manged to tear them down. Only Hiccup could have that effect on her. His doubts of her love for him only magnified the other negative feelings she had tried to squash out of her consciousness, making her feel impossibly worse. He was so expressive, whenever he felt inclined to share, and yet Astrid never viewed him as emotionally weak or vulnerable. Surely, logic would dictate, if one could be as strong as Hiccup and manage to confess their feelings, it should have been no problem for Astrid to do the same—but she had always equated her own strength of character with her ability to be physically, mentally, and emotionally tough. She was not sure she even knew _how_ to display weakness without falling entirely to pieces. It served her well once, but in her reationship, it was miserable.

"Hiccup, you're one of the only things I've got to feel happy about," she told him. "You're not the issue, here."

"Then, what is?"

"_Feelings_," she said dramatically, mocking herself.

The rain picked up outside, beating relentlessly against the door and the facade as the winds whipped bands of it about. The thunder continued to roll at a steady pace and Astrid felt the gods were deliberately tormenting her by having the weather reflect her poor mood.

She dropped to the floor in front of the hearth, startling Toothless who had been napping comfortably by the flames. He narrowed his large eyes at her before rolling to face the other direction, turning his back to the two Vikings.

Astrid watched the fire dance and crackle merrily, wishing its warmth could lift her spirits, but she had already confessed that deeper emotions were gnawing at her, making them that much harder to ignore. It was suddenly an inconvenience to find herself in Hiccup's company when she was so gloomy. She could not reflect on her feelings without drawing his attention and concern, and her reluctance to confide her more vulnerable thoughts to him left him to fill in the pieces with his own lingering insecurities—far from what she wanted.

She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on top of them. She was so entranced by the dancing flames that she nearly jumped out of her skin with the gentle touch on her back.

"_Hiccup!"_ she gasped, hand over her pounding heart—she had not noticed him move from the table to join her on the floor

"Sorry," he apologized, but he did not withdraw his hand from her.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

"If you don't want to talking about those 'feelings' of yours, then this is all I can do," he answered, wrapping her left arm around her.

His right shoulder was still on the mend, so he could only pull her closer with his left hand, and though she was a bit bewildered, she did not resist him. He held her tightly—or as much as he could with his one, good arm—and Astrid felt a warm, tingly feeling radiate out from the core of her being to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She was curled up against his left side, turned in towards him, with her face pressed agaist the side of his neck. They had hugged many times before, but it was different—quick and platonic. The way he was embracing her in that moment was so comforting and affectionate. Astrid could not recall ever being held in such a manner, not even by her parents. In their culture, if a child fell down and scraped their knee, or awoke from a nightmare, it was words of sympathy and reassurance followed by a pat on the head, and that was the extent of it. The child was expected to rebound and carry on as usual. Astrid never felt she had cause to be held with such tenderness, but suddenly, it was the most vital sensation in the entire world. One of her hands emerged from the blanket and gently grasped at Hiccup's tunic.

"Hiccup..." she murmured against his skin.

She hoped the soft whisper of his name was enough to convey how grateful she was for his affection, and how desperately she needed him to keep his arm around her. She was not certain she could tell him that, outright. Or that he felt wonderful. He even _smelled_ wonderful—a thought that had not previously occurred to her. There was a peace in his embrace, feelings of acceptance and, oddly enough, protection. Astrid would not have assumed that mattered to her, but it put her at ease. Nothing else had changed, but she felt the last bit of her walls collapse. Somehow, cuddled against Hiccup, vulnerability was not so repulsive an idea, but the words did not come easy. Her stomach twisted in anxious knots as she spoke.

"I feel like the last three years—everything that happened, I mean—was completely my fault," she confessed. "Every time I think about it, I feel guilty."

It felt like she had just shrugged a heavy load from her shoulders, but she could not bring herself to look at Hiccup, directly. If there was any judgment or amusement in his eyes at the sight of herr weakness, she could not bear to see it.

"I don't think being drawn into an arranged marriage was your fault," he replied, gently stroking her back. "Unless I've failed to grasp the concept entirely."

"That's not what I meant," Astrid said with a sigh. The rain continued to assault the Haddock household, and she reflexively snuggled deeper into his embrace. She continued, "I should've told you...about everything."

Hiccup was silent for a moment, and she feared he might agree with her, but just when she began to regret her uncharacteristic openness, he kissed the top of her head. It was a brief gesture of reassurance, but to Astrid, it meant that he was listening, and that he accepted all she was saying.

"You were trying to protect me from the disappointment," he said. "Right or wrong, I think that was admirable, in a way. It would have been a perfectly good plan, had I not already been in love with you—but you didn't know I felt that way."

She had not known at the time, but she had suspected. She had thought it was no more than a crush—an adolescent infatuation that he could eventually get over with enough time and distance. How wrong she had been.

"I hurt you," she whispered, "and I'm so, _so_ sorry."

That was at the core of everything—the guilt and frustration that weighed her down. His heart had ached because of her. The arranged marriage had been her problem to solve, but he had volunteer himself to take a beating for her. None of it had been intentional, but she could not escape the feelings of selfishness that plagued her. It was difficult enough to verablize her feelings, but to explain to Hiccup how she felt responsible for all of his suffering made her feel ill. What if she persuaded him to see things the same way? Her first forray into the muddy waters of feeling would only backfire when she had hoped to be healed. Emotions were a painful and messy business, which is why she tried to deal with them in private. What would their relationship gain if she bared her soul to him? She was changing their dynamics already, just a month into their relationship. She was the emotionally fortified one—the one that gave the advice. The one that did not deal with deep feelings. That was supposed to be Hiccup's area of expertise, and yet, there they sat on the floor. Roles reversed. It was foreign. It was uncomfortable. No resolution had yet been reached as Astrid kept peeling back her layers, allowing Hiccup to get closer—far closer than felt natural to her.

She buried her face in his neck completely, wanting to disappear—wanting to drive away the sting of vulnerability. She felt weak and foolish. It was embarrassing and she wish she could take it back—stop the rushing of emotion before she had started it.

"I forgive you," Hiccup said, "and, if I recall correctly, I hurt you too."

She pulled back slowly, staring up at him in confusion. He smiled at her, bringing his hand around to caress her face. It was another sweet gesture that she had not experienced before their relationship. Far from seeming turned off by her emotional side—the small fraction she had let him see—he only seemed to find it more endearing. He made her feel things and want things she did not think someone of her rough, Viking demeanor would ever possibly desire. Closeness, candidness—both new. Both frightening. Was it storming outside? Was it supposed to be cold and dreary? She could not remember. His eyes were distracting.

"You at least _tried_ to keep things friendly between us, and I only shut you out to protect myself. That wasn't fair. I was cold. I can't make a decent excuse for it. I can only apologize," he said.

Astrid shook her head and replied, "I think, at the end of the day, your motivatons make more sense than mine."

"I wasn't aware we were competing," he teased, and she was thankful for his attempt to lighten the mood—he just understood her so well.

She relaxed against him and his arm came around her shoulders. She glanced up at his face as she continued, feeling the irrational anxiety of his judgment start to fade. It was easier to let the words flow, since she had opened the proverbial sulice gate.

"I thought things would get better after the _svipting_ was over and you woke up, but there are still people who talk. I try to just ignore it, like I always have, but these comments are different. It's not 'Astrid is too harsh' or 'Astrid only cares about winning' anymore," she said.

"I know. I've heard the whispers," he replied, frowning.

"People have called me a—"

"I know," he interrupted. "You don't have to say it, Astrid. It only infuriates me."

"I _didn't_ play you both. I didn't manipulate you into doing anything," she said firmly.

"I know."

"It's not like I derived some kind of sick pleasure from the whole thing!"

"I know."

"It's not like...It's not like it didn't affect me, too. It's not like it was easy for me...to sit there as almost watch you die."

"Astrid—"

She buried her face in the palms of her hands, the wool blanket slipping down her shoulders. She inhaled deeply as a particularly horrible memory came flashing back.

"It kills me that anyone could think that of me—that I would put you in that position. But, to everyone else, it's my fault. The whole mess. The snide remarks follow me everywhere. It's gotten better over the past couple of weeks, I'll admit—but I still hear it every now and then. It's is so hurtful to be so hated for something I didn't do—for something that makes _my_ heart ache," she admitted.

"And this is where I owe you another apology," Hiccup said. "You're getting blamed for my decision. On top of that, while I felt the _svipting_ was necessary, it upset you. Again, my fault."

"You're the 'Pride of Berk'—"

"Gods, that's no less awkward when you say it."

"—and no one is going to blame you for anything. Regardless of the facts, it all just _looks_ bad—like I'm the harlot people seem to think I am."

"Don't," he replied. "You are _not_ a harlot. I've been relatively cooped up in my house, dealing with the worst of this injury. When I venture out again, and people see us together, that talk will fade, I'm sure of it. They'll see that we were always inevitable, just like they used to believe before the Svensons ever came into the mix."

He sounded confident, and his eyes were resolute. It was hard to stay trapped in her own misery and doubt when he was so optimistic. The resolution she had been hoping for—the healing—they had somehow found it, together. Emotions were no more pleasant a territory to traverse, but perhaps it was not as intimidating a place as she had once made it out to be. Hiccup had taken her hand, and led her to the other side with her pride and dignity intact. Before him, she would have never though it was possible. Vulnerability was still not her favorite sensation, but with Hiccup, perhaps she could learn to accept it. Perhaps she might even learn to display it willing, of her own accord, without provocation—but in the meantime, one small step in the right direction would suffice. It was all she had the fortitude for. She felt drained and exhausted, but also satisfied, and considerably lighter.

"I...Sorry for just unloading on you like that," she said, grinning sheepishly. "That was a little odd and unexpected."

"I don't mind. I'm glad you did. You could stand to do that more," Hiccup replied.

"Be careful what you wish for! You might stumble on to some parts of me you wished had stayed buried," she teased, nudging him.

"I don't think so," he responded, placing his hand gently on her chest. "I love _all _of you, Astrid. There's nothing in here that can scare me."

If there were different levels of emotional expression, Hiccup had reached the absolute zenith, and Astrid was floundering somewhere close to the bottom. She did not know if she would ever get to where he was, but she realized they could only benefit from her efforts. There was no one else she could confide in. If anyone else ever pried, she would be as tough and unsentimental as ever. Neither her parents nor her friends needed to know that, at heart, she was as sensitive and vulnerable as the next person. There were some things only Hiccup was privileged enough to know, for he was the only one who could truly understand—for his arms were the one place where it was _safe_.

She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the rain patter outside as the storm dissolved into a steady drizzle and the distant roll of thunder.

"Hiccup?" she murmured.

"Hmn?"

She could not punch his right shoulder in its current state, so she settled for nudging him hard in the left shoulder.

"What was that for?" he asked, bemused.

"For being you," she replied nonchalantly.

She grinned at the still puzzled expression on his face knowing that, while he pondered the mysteries of her unusual form of affection, there was only one clear way in which she had meant it.

On the specturm of feelings, it landed firmly on "I sort of, kind of love you right now."

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**Author's Note**: A quick smattering of feels for another fan, Skullar. The request was for a one-shot in which Hiccup comforts Astrid, instead of the other way around. Also, rainy weather—because ambiance, that's why. Y'all do seem to be fans of a more vulnerable Astrid. That $& % it hard to write in-character, my friends! I do try ever so hard.

Cheers!


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